


Where Are We Going From Here

by River_of_Dreams



Series: Patchworks [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-level hints of Destiel, If it counts as slow burn when I don't expect the fic to exceed 30k, M/M, Season/Series 09, Season/Series 09 fix-it, Slow Build, Slow Burn, and it's going to be way longer than 30k, and plotty, it's a slow burn, scratch that, the author is having too much fun to take shortcuts, turned out non-smutty, very thorough fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-02-28 13:37:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 112,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2734574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/River_of_Dreams/pseuds/River_of_Dreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a nightmare and an unexpected compliment.<br/>It doesn't end there.</p><p>Lucifer and Michael walk the Earth again, except that this time they don't have an Apocalypse to focus on.<br/>Idle hands are the Devil's workshop, they say. What happens when those idle hands belong to the Devil himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Куда нам дальше идти](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11359272) by [captain_kink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_kink/pseuds/captain_kink)



> So I said I won't continue Mea Culpa.  
> Then I started getting ideas.
> 
> Samifer isn't normally my poison of choice, but who am I to deny my muses :) So after I realized it might work for me from Lucifer's side, I couldn't resist to start playing with ideas how to make it happen from Sam's side without making the relationship abusive or without handwaving the torture Lucifer subjected Sam to. As of the second chapter I think I'll manage :)  
> Still, this is an experiment. I'm only now figuring out what will happen in the fic. I can't promise quick updates or even that I'll manage to finish it properly (although I already have bits of the ending written, so there's that). All I can promise is that I'll do my best.
> 
> And now, without further babbling, to the fic itself! :)

_On a long road, miles to go_  
 _Its winding and cold and its covered with snow_  
 _But I ask you what we all want to know_  
 _Where are we going from here..._

_We're all on this road, with miles to go_  
 _Braving new pathways into the unknown_  
 _But who do you ask, when no one really knows_  
 _Where we are going from here..._

Blackmore’s Night, Where Are We Going From Here

 

They needed to rewrite the Tablet. If they could do that, everything would be solved.

Sitting at his usual place in the Bunker’s library, Sam was researching the symbols they needed to replace, but his internet browser was misbehaving. It wouldn’t let him open more than ten tabs at once and even those it reshuffled every time he opened a new one, giving him hell whenever he needed to cross-reference anything. Could have been a virus: every once in a while a yellow duck would walk across his screen and eat some of the less useful symbols. He wished he had the time to get rid of it.

He glanced at the intricate hourglass next to his laptop. He kept turning it, but every time he did there was less sand in it. He knew that the moment he forgets to turn it, or finally all the sand is gone, he will lose all the work he did. But he was close. If he could only figure out how to connect the symbols-

“Hello, Sam.“

He froze, his eyes darting towards the shadowed corner of the library from where the voice came.

“You’re not real.“ It was a knee-jerk reaction, one for which he didn’t have a reason for a long, long time. He dug his thumb into the scar on his palm, but it was long since healed and failed to produce any sensation whatsoever. Sure enough, the Devil remained standing where he was, leaning slightly against a bookshelf. His eyes flickered to Sam’s hands, then back to his face, narrowing in concentration.

“What makes you so sure?“

“You are…“ Sam took a deep breath. There were other ways to make a reality check; something he trained himself into during those terrible months. He concentrated at what he was doing before Lucifer showed up. All those mixed up tabs, the hourglass… the friggin’ _duck_. His shoulders sagged. He had been so _close_. Of course it couldn’t be real.

“This is a dream.“

“Yes.“ The Devil tilted his head, just so. “You seem almost disappointed about it. Should I be flattered?“

Sam met his gaze straight on.

“You don’t matter anymore.“

The claim didn’t make Lucifer disappear, but at least it shut him up, even though the muscles in his jaw tightened and his stare intensified. Sam elected to ignore him for as long as possible. He reached under the table for a bottle of whisky he decided was there, and made a beeline for the most comfortable armchair he could imagine. Now that he was lucid, he could at least get some rest within his own dream.

The Devil followed him, of course he did.

“You aren’t surprised to meet me here,“ he commented, carefully neutral.

Sam draped himself over the armchair and pulled a long swig straight from the bottle, trying to relax.

“Silent treatment, Sam? Really?“

“You’re just a nightmare, Lucifer. You can’t do anything to me, not anymore. The real you is in the Cage, the hallucination you is gone and I have bigger problems at the moment. The only reason I’m not waking up right now is that I need the sleep. So go ahead, be annoying all you want.“

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, a glint of something dangerous in them, but his silence was thougtful.

“So you were hallucinating me for a time. But not anymore.“

Sam frowned, trying to ignore the uneasiness that crept up his spine. He was used to the mocking, gleefully irritating Lucifer of his hallucinations. That he could deal with, as long as he knew it’s just a dream. This, this was something else. This reminded him of the Lucifer of the Apocalypse, focused and intense, inquisitive and self-assured. Why the hell would his subconscious drag out that one?

But then, why would his subconscious do anything?

He snorted.

“Yeah. I’m all fucked up. Is that your point?“

“Sam. The Cage is not kind. I am not kind. The last I saw you you were broken. I made sure of that. I shattered you so thoroughly there wasn’t enough left of you to build a Heaven around, much less survive. Yet here you are, alive and investigating yet another threat to humanity. How?“

Sam shivered, his grip on the bottle tightening. He had been wrong. This wasn’t the Lucifer of the Apocalypse, with his cold rage and contempt and a sort of unhinged desperation Sam hadn’t understood until he witnessed him plead with Michael to call it all off. This was the Lucifer of the Cage. The one he only remembered in glimpses since Castiel’s intervention, and wished he didn’t remember at all. The one who meticulously picked him apart in between fights with Michael because he had nothing better to do, and because it was only just for Sam to get what he signed up for when he locked himself up with the Devil.

“Sam. How?“

The hunter gulped.

“I’ve had help, I guess.“

“Not enough. Death has power over souls but can’t heal them. Raphael wouldn’t. Lesser angels can’t take on this much damage. Father…” Lucifer faltered, then pressed on: “If God decided to heal you, you would be whole as if I never happened. But you are still broken. Fractured in so many ways, it must still hurt. But you made the pieces hold together. You’ve rebuilt yourself into the most extraordinary mosaic I have ever seen.”

Sam tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. There was awe in the Devil’s expression, one of the few honest emotions he’s ever shown outside of the Cage, and it terrified Sam more than anything, because he didn’t believe for a second it won’t turn against him. And because this sort of thing, being complimented in his own dream, never happened. It was not what his own mind would come up with.

“Say this is real. How did you get out of the Cage?“

Lucifer’s expression shuttered. For a moment he seemed to hesitate, then he smiled, easy and false.

“Sorry to cut the visit short, Sam. I’ll see you again.“

There was a sound like the rustle of dry leaves in the harsh winter wind, and then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, I'd love to hear from you. Does the fic seem promising? Does anyone seem OOC or is it fine? Do you want to read more? What do you think will happen? Where would _you_ go with it? Actually, since this is such an experiment, the offer made at Mea Culpa still stands: If anything here gives you ideas, if you'd like to take any point in the fic and continue in your own direction, you're more than welcome to do so!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for canon-typical levels of gore. (No characters were harmed in the making of this chapter.)
> 
> Special thanks to Kathi who provided just the gentle nudge I needed to work on this chapter sooner rather than later.

Human dreams were such a peculiar thing. The second time Lucifer found Sam Winchester’s sleeping soul, the hunter was pursued by a pack of wendigos – nevermind that wendigos don’t hunt in packs. With a snap of his fingers the nearest monster exploded, its remains painting the surrounding trees black and wet in the moonlight.

The rest of the pack didn’t as much back away as cease to exist the moment Sam’s attention shifted to him.

For a long moment neither of them spoke. Then-

“There are no signs of the Apocalypse restarting. I have checked.“

It was defiant, as always with Sam, and brittle; the doubt has already burrowed under his skin and wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m not back to restart the Apocalypse.“

“Then why are you here?“

“I wanted to see you.“

Sam’s nostrils flared. “I’m not saying yes. I don’t care whether you are real or not. I’m not giving anything to you.“

So they were back to their old dance. It nearly made Lucifer smile. If there was one thing he didn’t regret about his last brief stint outside the Cage, it was getting to know Sam Winchester. Although it would be nice to get something a little less… antagonistic this time.

“I’m not asking you to.“

“Then what do you want from me?!“

Lucifer narrowed his eyes as the cracks through the hunter’s soul flashed with fear and old pain. Sam could never hide his emotions from him, and walking through his dream laid him nearly as open as full possession in this regard.

He moved closer, watched Sam grind his teeth and stand his ground. Admirable.

“Sam. You are the most extraordinary human that has ever walked the Earth. Brave. Determined. You wrestled _me_ back into the Cage. Why wouldn’t I want to meet you again?“

“You wanted to go.“

And that, also, was Sam. Clinging to hard truths even if he was tortured for them. Lucifer shrugged, letting his gaze soften.

“You tempted the Devil and won. If that’s not an extraordinary feat, I don’t know what is.“

“So you want revenge? Again?“

“It was never revenge.“

“What was it then?“

“Curiosity. And punishment, yes,“ he admitted for the sake of honesty, although it didn’t matter much. “But mainly curiosity. You are a fascinating man, Sam. The things you have achieved… I wanted to know how. I wanted to know _why_. You could have had it all, anything you wanted, I would have given it to you. And you turned your back to it. You sacrificed yourself for people who would never know what you did, and would blame you for not stopping it sooner if they knew. I’ve never met a human like you.“

“Maybe you haven’t looked,“ Sam shot back, bitter.

“Maybe. How thoroughly would you expect me to look when anybody I had ever touched caved in so readily? If it’s a handful of individuals who are worth anything in a pile of crawling filth, can you really blame me for concluding there’s a problem with the whole species?“

“Funny. Because from where I am standing, angels aren’t any better.“

That gave Lucifer a pause.

“Are you trying to provoke me?“ he asked as mildly as he could.

“No. Tell me how you are any better than humans. Starting with you and Michael, who would destroy the world so that you could have your death match.“

That stung.

“We thought we are following God’s will.“

Sam sneered. “As if you care about God’s will.“

“And that is where you are wrong, Sam. You of all people should know that being angry with one’s father isn’t the same as not caring about his opinions.“

Sam tensed for a moment, then deflated. “Right. So, if you’re not back to restart the Apocalypse, what is it you’re doing?“

“Nothing. Everything,“ Lucifer shrugged. “I didn’t have the opportunity to enjoy Creation the last time I was here. I am… rediscovering. There is so much beauty in the world, it would be a pity not to take the time to admire it.“

Sam huffed a surprised laugh and dragged his hand through his hair, stopping for a moment with his eyes closed and head down as if gathering strength. “Man, you know you’ve had enough when even your hallucinations talk about taking a vacation.“

The tension drained from his posture. Apparently he decided that the Devil without a goal can’t be real. Lucifer frowned, disliking the assumption both for what it betrayed about Sam’s opinion of him and for being incorrect. Then his frown deepened. Something was wrong.

When he had met Sam for the first time, his soul had been radiant, layers upon layers of hope, love, hurt and meaning along the determination that run through it all, myriads of feelings, memories, flickering thoughts and more. Even weighed down by the awareness of what he had done, he had been bright enough to rival the sun. And later, in the Cage, with every strike that unraveled him he had only shown more, in the same way fracturing sunlight reveals the hidden rainbow.

Not anymore. Now that his fear and defiance seeped through the cracks, laying dormant for the moment, there was nothing to take their place. No new spectrum of colors to shine bright. It was as if fog was cast over his soul, as if it faded with too much use. He wasn’t just tired; his weariness was soul-deep as if he was barely alive, and Lucifer found himself strangely concerned. It didn’t sit well with him to see the first human soul ever that he had found beautiful enough to match the rest of Creation so dulled with exhaustion.

“Why don’t you? Take a vacation, let the world save itself for once.“

“I can’t.“

“Why?“

“Because Dean was right. There’s too much depending on us. There are people depending on us.“

And oh how much pain and guilt was there behind that statement, for an instant masking the terrible void beneath.

“That didn’t keep you from trying to escape this kind of life before.” He tilted his head. “When I first met you, you were working at a bar, weren’t you? You’d just let me out and you were out there, polishing glasses and mixing drinks.“

Sam let out a choked sound that couldn’t be called a laugh by any stretch of the imagination. “And look how that worked out.“

“It didn’t work out because you had Heaven and Hell stacked against you. The same with Stanford. That’s no longer the case.“

“There’s always something.“ The exhaustion was back, bitter and suffocating. “And we’re always in the middle of it. Always finding ourselves standing in the way of some new scheme to end the world. There’s-“

His mouth snapped shut as if he only then realized who it is he’s talking to, his wariness flaring briefly before it burned down to barely embers, although he didn’t continue the sentence.

Lucifer leaned in, close enough to touch the hunter if he reached for him.

“You have to take a break.“

“Why?“

“Remember our time together? How you fought me every step of the way? How you clung to awareness and kept looking for anything that could help you beat me back, until you found it?“

Sam was watching him, jaw set, slowly coming alive again with anger and remembered determination. Lucifer returned his gaze, burrowing under his skin, working to capture his full attention.

“Right now, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t be able to resist what I would offer you.“

“Yeah? And what is that?“

The provocation fell on fertile land, blooming into resentment, apprehension and defiance. It wasn’t what he had hoped to see at the beginning of the dream, but it was beautiful nonetheless. No wonder he didn’t see the nothingness eating away at the hunter until now: faced with an immediate threat Sam’s emotions were as vibrant as ever. Sadly, that didn’t make the abyss beneath them any less real. It was with absolute certainty that Lucifer replied simply:

“Oblivion.“

Sam drew in a sharp breath, teeth grinding, but didn’t even find it in him to protest.

“Think about it, Sam. You are strong, but you are still human. You can’t go on forever without rest.“

The hunter didn’t reply. Lucifer studied him for a moment longer, then looked around, at the dark, unnaturally silent forest painted with wendigo blood, and his mouth twisted in distaste.

“Let’s get you somewhere more pleasant for the rest of the night.“

With that, the scenery changed, and Lucifer saw himself out.

o.O.o

He came back to himself at the beach, small waves lapping at his feet. The tide advanced further than he thought it would while he was occupied. Michael was standing right in front of him, his vessel expressionless but his Grace betraying his concern.

“You went dreamwalking again.“

“Yes.“

Michael hesitated, the peace between them still too fragile for too many questions, but in the end he couldn’t help himself. “Why?“

“I wanted to visit Sam Winchester.“

Michael frowned minutely, some of his confusion, clearly visible in his Grace, filtering into his vessel.

“Why? You don’t need him anymore.“

“I find him fascinating. Aren’t you curious what is your own True Vessel doing?“

“No. Dean Winchester is no longer my concern. He disappointed me.“

Lucifer nearly smiled. “How? By opposing you?“

Michael spread his wings, horizon to horizon and yet just an echo of his former glory. He tended to keep them like that, reaching out as if needing to reassure himself they will never meet the edges of the Cage again, while Lucifer kept his folded within his vessel, preferring the secrecy it gave him.

“He refused his destiny. It was written. He shouldn’t have denied me.“

This time, Lucifer did release his wings, just to show Michael his amusement in a way he could read more easily, and he got to see his brother’s growing confusion in turn.

“What is so funny?“

“That you’re disappointed in your Vessel because he fought you. Mine exceeded my expectations for the same reason.“

Michael narrowed his eyes, puzzled. After a while he clearly decided to drop the matter, and after another moment he shifted his wings carefully, brushing Lucifer’s. Lucifer relaxed into it almost instantly, the touch the most natural thing in the world after eons pressed against each other in the Cage.

Then his thoughts strayed back to his True Vessel, and that was when he realized how well Sam and Michael complement each other: one giving him acceptance without understanding, the other understanding without acceptance.

It was more than he once had, but at that moment he found himself yearning for both anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

When Sam fell asleep this time, Lucifer was already waiting for him, sprawled over a sofa and reading a magazine. Good. Sam was _seething_.

“That’s what you consider more pleasant? Flaunting what I could have had with Jess in my face?“

Lucifer paused with a page held mid-turn and looked up at him, a faint puzzled frown etched into his face.

“You didn’t like the dream?“

“Seeing Jess? Knowing she was dead? Not knowing if it’s my memory of her or you wearing her face again? No, I didn’t like that.“

The Devil set the magazine aside and folded his hands loosely in his lap, movements slow and obvious. “You stayed aware. I’m sorry.“

And he _sounded_ sorry, for the first time ever. Sam blinked, derailed from his rant, while Lucifer studied him carefully.

“What would you prefer, then?“

Sam stared at him, speechless.

Lucifer tilted his head. “Sam. I have some control over your dreams. If I can’t make you rest out there, I can at least make sure you sleep well. No nightmares. No tricks, I promise. When I visit, you will always know it’s me.“

Sam swallowed to get his voice in working order.

“Are you actually offering to correct your mistake?“ Because the Lucifer he knew would never do that. Being sorry – or claiming to be sorry – never stopped him from doing whatever he wanted.

“…yes?“

Sam shifted, uneasy, hands twitching for a weapon that wasn’t there.

“You’ve changed,“ he said queitly.

And that, right there, was the problem. Because the Lucifer in his head had no reason to be anything other than the obnoxious tormentor he had been. No reason to compliment him. No reason to be nice to him. Well, attempt to be nice to him, but still. His hallucination – dream, whatever – couldn’t surprise him like this.

“Have I?“

And that, too, sounded honest, honestly curious and somewhat hesitant. Sam shook his head.

“I’m not going to get much rest if you’re there, you know?“

“I can’t influence your dreams if I’m not,“ Lucifer replied. “But I can do the same as I did last time. Set up the dream for you and leave. I can’t guarantee it won’t take a wrong turn that way, but you’ll know you are truly alone. And with your control over your dreams added to mine, you should be safe.“

“You tortured me for decades,“ Sam pointed out bluntly. “Why would you want to help me now?“

Lucifer looked faintly disapproving. “I’ve told you already. Do I need to repeat myself?“

“Humor me.“

“I took you apart because I’d found you extraordinary. I wanted to know what you’re made of, what made you capable of opposing me. What I found exceeded my wildest expectations. You are one of a kind, not only for being my True Vessel, but by yourself. I do cherish my Father’s finest creations, Sam. You are one of them. And I will do what is within my power to preserve you.“

Sam snorted. “ _Preserve_ me? I’m not an exhibit. People change, Lucifer.“

“Change, yes. All the best things in Creation grow. But you’re fading away, Sam, and I _will not have that_.“ He leaned forward, protective and possessive, nearly snarling with it. Sam latched onto the only part of that he knew how to deal with.

“I don’t belong to you!“

Lucifer’s stare intensified as if turning over every brittle shard Sam is made of, but instead of a well-aimed taunt Sam expected (and feared) his gaze turned thoughtful after a while.

“No, I suppose you don’t. It’s curious, really. You were made for me, gave yourself over to me, were mine to do with as I pleased for a time, but in all that you never truly belonged to me.“ He paused. “A pity, perhaps, but you wouldn’t be half as fascinating if you did give in.“

And alright, that was moderately creepy, but Sam could feel his anger dissipating anyway, apprehension rising in its stead. Surprises were bad. The Devil giving something that almost felt like respect, backing away from a challenge, definitely counted as another surprise.

“So you’re saying what? That you had a change of heart and now you want to make peace and protect me?“

Lucifer’s expression didn’t shift, but his gaze suddenly seemed bottomless, reminding Sam that this is an archangel, an eldritch power older than the Earth and possibly just as vast.

“I’ve had a long time to think, Sam,“ he said quietly.

“A few years. That translates to what, a few centuries in the Cage? Don’t tell me that would change you after the millennia you’d spent there already.”

“It’s been much longer than that. Time flew faster in the Cage once you were gone. It’s been long enough to seem like eternity even to me. I’m tired, Sam. I’m finally out and this time I don’t have a script to follow. Is it really so unbelievable that being free to choose, I’d choose to explore rather than destroy?“ He shrugged. “For now, at least?“

And… alright. That was an overkill. That sounded about as likely as his alternative theory that his brain finally snapped, decided that enough is enough and treated him to something nice for a change. Considering his previous plunge into insanity, he really shouldn’t be surprised that it was Lucifer again.

“Sam. What kind of dream would you like?“ Lucifer reminded him mildly when he didn’t say anything for a while.

Sam hesitated. Part of him wanted to insist that he doesn’t want anything from Lucifer. He was more than aware that it is dangerous to accept anything from him. The offer of relief from constant nightmares was tempting, but that was kind of the point. But it was also a way to test his power – his existence – and it wasn’t as if he was revealing anything the real Devil didn’t already know.

“Nature,“ he said. “Somewhere quiet. No people. No obligation. Just… me.“

“As you wish.“

o.O.o

It was night again. Tall pines creaked in a gentle breeze, a small fire provided enough heat to make him comfortable and enough light to see his immediate surroundings. He was camping, apparently, sitting on a sleeping bag, a pan with smears of his dinner set aside. He looked around for evidence of Lucifer, or any other danger for that matter, and found none. By the time he turned back to the fire the dream has finished building itself around him. It was after a successful hunt, the forest as safe as it could be. Dean was there, lying on his own sleeping bag, head pillowed on one hand and beer in the other, silent. It’s been so long since he and Dean were really comfortable around each other that it took Sam a while to truly relax, but when several minutes passed and Dean still wasn’t saying anything, Sam stopped looking at him and followed his gaze instead.

He spent the rest of his few hours of sleep like that, alternating between stargazing, looking into the fire and watching Dean who seemed blessedly at ease.

He woke up better rested than he remembered being in last several years and no closer to figuring out whether the Lucifer in his head was real or not.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I’m changing tenses; storytelling in present tense somehow suits me better. We’ll see if I stick to it. Experiment, remember? Sorry about that. ^^;  
> On a related note, I know English tenses still give me trouble. Comes with a native language that quite happily makes do with only one past tense. If you spot something suspicious, please don't hesitate to let me know. A beta would be amazing. Maybe I'll deserve one one day :)
> 
> Anyway! We’re touching down on the canon timeline here. I intend to avoid episode retelling like the plague, but please let me know if anything gets confusing. We’ll take off to the Land of Canon Divergence come next chapter.
> 
> Thank you for your patience, everyone. Have a chapter twice as long as the last one as a reward. :)

Sam looks at the body at his feet with savage satisfaction the intensity of which will scare him in a few hours. Not yet, though. Right now he’s drunk on adrenaline, relief and victory. He won. He saved everyone who could still be saved. Everything will be okay now.

“I’m afraid you’ll need him alive,“ a calm, vaguely amused voice interrupts.

Sam whirls around, spotting Lucifer almost immediately: standing leisurely in the entrance to the alley not too far away, arms crossed, a lone street lamp painting him in a pillar of light.

To dig his nail into that long-healed scar is still a reflex, but this time it takes Sam only a moment to realize the truth.

“This is a dream. Again. Dammit!“ He barely reins in the need to kick something. Without looking he knows the body behind him already vanished. Perhaps just as well.

Lucifer moves closer in prowling, unhurried steps. “Metatron, right? He’s on your mind too often. Is he one of those issues that won’t let you rest?“

Sam grinds his teeth and tries to stare the Devil down. Futilely; Lucifer doesn’t stop till he’s almost within an arm’s reach. Taking the stubborn silence for a confirmation, he tilts his head.

“Why don’t you leave him to Gabriel?“

Sam flinches, the callous words like slap in the face. “Gabriel is dead. You killed him.“

He can see the instant Lucifer’s defenses go up, the blank wall of non-expression hiding his emotions. Sam surprises himself unpleasantly by still remembering enough of the Devil to be able to get a read on him anyway; or perhaps it is that it’s not too hard to spot pain, even the flicker of it he was allowed to see. And he still remembers Lucifer’s encounter with the other brother, the desperation and that other feeling, too fierce to be called merely reluctance to kill, but to call it protectiveness would be too ironic. There’s not a trace of triumph, that’s all too clear, and for just an instant Sam is immensely grateful for the brother he has, no matter how broken they are lately, grating at each other’s nerves with every word.

After a moment Lucifer’s mask morphs into one of smugness.

“So he didn’t bother to visit when he came back? Seems you weren’t very close friends, then. My bad.“

Sam ignores the taunt the best he’s able.

“How could he be back?“

Lucifer’s eyes grow deep and hard; the only thing that is truthful in the carefully neutral face.

“There is only one answer to that question, Sam.“

“God. God brought him back?“

Lucifer shrugs minutely.

“He does have a soft spot for self-proclaimed champions of humanity. Even if they do more harm than good. You should know, shouldn’t you? Or has Castiel abandoned you as well?“

It sounds like fishing for information, which is another thing the hallucination-Lucifer would have no use for. He knew Sam’s mind from the inside at any given moment after all, which also let him aim his jabs better.

“Gabriel didn’t do it for humanity. He was protecting Kali.“

Lucifer’s smile is humorless. “Is that what you think? I know what my brother told me, Sam.“

And just like that, for the first time ever, Sam finds himself wishing this was real.

Gabriel wasn’t a friend. Hell, he was barely an ally. But he helped them when Sam was in a bad place, desperately needing at least _some_ good news. Needing to believe in second chances just as desperately. Gabriel gave him that, very briefly, and died for it.

Several years later, Sam is still in the same bad place, although the reasons have changed. And that is precisely why he can’t afford to believe in this. In a Devil who isn’t out to ruin the world. In Lucifer who is, in his own slightly creepy, flawed way, oddly supportive. In Gabriel back from the dead and willing to help. As hallucinations go, this one would be more elaborate than any before, but that doesn’t change the fact that it has managed to find one of the few soft spots it didn’t exploit before and burrow deep.

He sets his jaw, silent. There’s nothing he could say. After a while Lucifer shakes his head.

“You don’t believe me.“ It sounds almost sad and it means absolutely nothing. It might be just a guilt-trip, another hook to sink into Sam’s soul. Sam doesn’t deny the statement.

Lucifer sighs, a long, gentle exhale. “Then let me at least give you another dream.“

It’s not phrased as a question, but he looks at the hunter expectantly and the dirty alley isn’t going anywhere, not yet. One of the Devil’s few saving graces: always asking permission even if it seems he already got it once. After Gadreel it seems just as important as when the fate of the world was riding on it.

His judgment momentarily clouded by something Sam refuses to call gratefulness, he says yes before he bothers to think it through.

o.O.o

There’s no Dean this time, and the dream isn’t based on some half-forgotten memory of better times. It’s early, hues of violet and soft crimson over the horizon hinting at dawn, pale sand spreading out in all directions as far as the eye can see. It is swept almost flat by mild breeze, the pattern like sunlight playing in shallow waters of a clear river. It should be bitterly cold out here, the sun too deep below the horizon yet to warm the crisp, dry air, but Sam doesn’t feel it. He’s not even sure he has a body with which he could feel it. It should be disconcerting, but instead it calms him, allows him to simply exist in the moment, poised between the night and the sunrise.

He’s not sure when he becomes aware of the song. It’s coming from nowhere and everywhere, suffusing the scenery with gentle sound at the edge of Sam’s hearing, a formless harmony without beginning or end, soft like a lullaby and joyous like a hymn. He’s never heard anything so beautiful, or so captivating. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, listening, while time lazily flows by, slow like pine resin, making the dawn seem endless.

Slowly another sensation worms its way into his awareness and he looks down at his bare feet burrowed in the sand. He can feel every individual grain of it, pressing against his skin, shifting to accomodate the shape of his fingers and soles and heels as if to make him a part of the desert, one with the space and the song and the breathtakingly bright stars overhead. A tiny scorpion scuttles by, giving him a wide berth, bringing his attention to the life around him. Small insects, spiders, a lizard off to the distance; seeds indistinguishable from the sand, waiting for a rain that comes once in a lifetime; microorganisms, so many kinds of them, beautiful in their resilience. The expanse of the desert is far from empty, so very far from a realm of death.

He watches, listens, _senses_ , breathing deep, every intake of gloriously fresh air a conscious decision, a treasure, while the sky becomes lighter, stars giving way to colours spreading over the heavens.

He wakes up just as the first thin sliver of the sun peeks over the horizon, crashing back into his human life and limited human senses. The gray walls of the Bunker feel bleak and stifling in comparison to the eternal beauty and freedom of the desert. For an hour or so he wonders if it has started, if this is the temptation of oblivion Lucifer has talked about.

It’s sometime around noon that he realizes he also feels strangely energized, almost optimistic for the first time in forever, and that it’s the third time already that he caught himself humming a pale, imperfect echo of the song from the dream.

o.O.o

“Cas. Can I talk to you for a moment?“

Sam is relieved when Dean gives them both a strange look but lets them step out of the motel room without a comment. When Cas told them Gabriel might be alive earlier today, Sam paled so fast it was a small wonder he didn’t get dizzy. Luckily neither Cas nor Dean noticed. He’s not ready to discuss his suspicions with his brother. But Cas, Cas is something else. Besides, he needs to tell at least someone. He needs to get reassured he’s not crazy. Or reassured that he is – he hasn’t made up his mind which is the better option.

The angel gives him his undivided attention by way of a conversation starter and Sam takes a deep breath.

“I think Lucifer might be out of the Cage.“

Cas doesn’t even look startled, just a little bit more intense. How is this even their life that the idea of the Devil walking free for the second time in a few years gets treated as just another threat out of several?

“What makes you think so?“

Sam twitches, restless. It _is_ crazy. Abnormal. Every time he thinks he’s made his peace with what he is, something like this happens.

“I started to dream about him again. He’s… different. Not the same as the hallucinations before, and not really the same as during the Apocalypse. He’s… Yeah. Different,“ he finishes lamely, because it’s one thing to admit to himself the Devil seems to be trying to be helpful and another thing entirely to say it out loud.

“Could he be just a regular human nightmare?“

Sam shakes his head. “He remembers what we talked about last. Human dreams don’t work that way. Whatever he is, it’s more than that.“

“What does he want?“

“Nothing. Or so he says. He says it’s been a long time in the Cage and now he’s just enjoying being topside.“ _He’s pestering me to take a break._ It’s on the tip of his tongue, but in the end he shakes the thought off. „I’m still not sure he’s real. But the thing is, just last dream he said Gabriel’s back and working on Metatron, and then you come and say you’ve met him. It’s too much of a coincidence.“

“You think Metatron might be behind it?“

Sam opens his mouth, then closes it. He was wondering if Metatron let Lucifer out, intentionally or not, but this he hasn’t thought of.

“You mean Metatron could be sending me those dreams? Trying to send us on a wild goose chase?“

“We must consider it a possibility.“

It makes too much sense. The way Lucifer seems different than before, the way he’s trying to make Sam ease off Metatron’s case… the way he’s playing on Sam’s vanity, or whatever it is, to make him believe he could have been actually important to the Devil and not just a convenient meatsuit. That he could maybe have a shot at making him change his mind about humanity. Those are some pretty compelling arguments, but they aren’t the only ones. He frowns and shakes his head again.

“Why would he contradict himself, then? You said that Metatron pretty much told you he wrote that scene with Gabriel – that Gabriel wasn’t really there. Even if he was, he would be working with Metatron, not against him. Maybe you weren’t supposed to find out but there still would have been clues. Like your cell remaining in that one hotel room. Or that message we never received and the calls you never picked up.“

Castiel sighs, some of his frustration showing through. “I don’t know, Sam. I don’t really understand him. He is… not thinking like an angel.“

Dead end.

“How did you find out Gabriel wasn’t real?“

“I told you. My coat got torn earlier that day, so when I saw it whole, I knew.“

“Yeah, so you knew the scenario is fake, but how did you know the real Gabriel isn’t behind it?“

“Oh.“ Cas looks briefly abashed. “I… used my sword. It went through him without resistence or harm, so I knew he was an illusion.“

Sam blinks at him. “You ran him through with a sword to determine if he’s real? What if he was?“

“Then I wouldn’t have used enough force to injure him,“ Castiel responds as if it was completely normal to test your allies with weapons.

Come to think of it, Sam isn’t one to talk. Still.

“I can’t use that even if I found him. I’m not going to do anything he could consider an attack if by some miracle he isn’t homicidal this time around. The last thing we need is for him to change his mind.“

Cas inclines his head almost imperceptibly, solemn.

“Be careful. One of the reasons he shone so brightly before the Fall was that he never did anything in moderation. If he truly walks the Earth again, I don’t believe he will stay neutral for long.“

Sam just nods.

Castiel tilts his head.

“Dean doesn’t know.“ It’s not a question.

Sam averts his gaze briefly.

“Dean has enough on his plate as it is. I don’t want to bother him with this until I’m sure it’s not just in my head.“

Cas gives him that trademark look that means he’s damn perceptive on all the wrong occasions.

“You know he won’t react favorably to you keeping this from him.“

“I won’t. The moment I have something, I will tell him.“

Not even he knows whether he’s lying or not. He shouldn’t, he’s well aware of that, but he’s not sure he can handle another argument anytime soon.

Castiel holds him in his gaze for a moment longer as if he knew more than Sam does, but in the end he says just: “I believe we should return if we don’t want Dean to become suspicious.“

Feeling as if he was let off the hook, Sam follows him back to the motel room.

o.O.o

That night, and several nights after that, Sam goes to sleep as regularly as he’s able, hoping Lucifer will show up. When he does, they’re in an aquarium of all the possible places, the water casting strange patterns of cold light over them both.

“Did you like my dream?“ Lucifer asks before Sam has a chance to speak. It may be a trick of the light, but he seems uncertain, almost anxious.

“I- Yes. I did.“ Because he thinks he can give him that much. The Devil nods, relaxing as if he had a little personal theory and to his relief it proved correct, and Sam is struck with a strange thought, momentarily derailed from what he wanted to talk about.

“It was your memory this time, wasn’t it?“

“Not entirely.“ He must sense Sam’s curiosity, because he elaborates: „It was limited in scope and a combination of a few. I needed to base it on the perception through a- body, so you could relate, but the angels haven’t sung like that since- a long time ago.“

The careful choice of words doesn’t do much for him.

“You mean since you rebelled.“

“I was going to say since humanity happened to us.“

Lucifer’s tone is light but his eyes are hard, and it’s oddly reassuring that there is something of the old Devil left, some of the bitterness and unrelenting pride. But there is pain, too, and Sam gets the sudden image of Lucifer taking just a moment to indulge, to visit a favourite place on Earth, curious how it will look perceived through a vessel’s senses. But his siblings’ voices aren’t celebrating life anymore, they’re heralding the upcoming battle and everything is wrong, wrong, _wrong_ -

He gives Lucifer a sharp, suspicious look, but the Devil isn’t even returning his gaze, his eyes downcast, mouth pressed into a thin, unhappy line. Whatever it was, an idea entirely his own or some sort of memory bleed he rather wouldn’t think about, it doesn’t seem intentional.

After a moment Lucifer looks up, careful.

“You wanted to see me?”

Sam shifts, not entirely happy with the idea that Lucifer appeared because he somehow knew, but then he straightens his shoulders.

“Yes.”

Except that the words don’t want to come. He should be able to come up with a different way, one that won’t show Lucifer he’s succeeded in getting under Sam’s skin.

“What is it, Sam?“ the Devil prompts when the silence stretches on for too long.

That is when Sam decides to go for brutal honesty after all, because the game never was about keeping his vulnerability from Lucifer, it was about having it exploited and winning anyway.

“I need to know if you are real. I need proof.“

He expects mockery. He expects teasing, some double-edged hints at best. Instead, the Devil… settles. There’s no better word for it. It’s not triumph, and it’s not entirely happiness, but whatever it is, it’s almost warm, like relief.

He cants his head, a not-quite-smile softening the curve of his mouth.

“Meet me in Detroit, then. I’ll be waiting for you.“

Before Sam can ask any more questions, he is gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a short scene that didn’t really fit into the next chapter so it got a chapter of its own.

This time when his brother comes back to him from wherever the search for Sam Winchester’s sleeping soul took him, Michael very carefully doesn’t comment. They’ve moved a few miles further north, their pace dutifully, unbearably slow while the world is falling into disarray around them.

Michael is used to his duty being unbearable. Somehow, he always carries it out anyway, the best he’s able.

Which isn’t much, considering.

The coast is more jagged here. The beach gave way to clusters of rock and a sheer cliff some two dozen feet high. Lucifer is perched on one of the rocks directly below where Michael is standing, as if daring the ocean to take him while he’s too occupied to escape. Michael stands guard to prevent exactly that from happening. Neither matters: the waters could hardly harm Lucifer’s vessel while he’s in it, much less Lucifer himself, but the game gives them something to pass the time.

It is curious, really. They’d endured the Cage, the length of their punishment so great that even to angelic perception time stretched to infinity and became meaningless. The few weeks they spent walking the coast should have passed them in a blur; even now, the multitude of stimuli compared to the absolute void of their prison should be overwhelming, but neither is true. The mere knowledge that there is so much more to witness, so much more to do, drives them both out of their minds. Michael knows it’s both of them, not only because he knows his brother and his drive to explore, to change things around him; even carefully concealed within a vessel Lucifer cannot hide the growing tension in him. It’s probably this that urges him to seek out past connections, as futile as the action is now.

In a welcome interruption to his musings, Lucifer joins him on the edge of the cliff with a single beat of wings, hands in his pockets and expression so innocently neutral that Michael immediately knows something is up, even if his ability to read facial expressions is still lacking.

“Let’s move to Detroit,“ Lucifer says without preamble, aiming, Michael thinks, at casual and failing spectacularly. He’s poised like a racehorse ready to outrun the wind.

“Why?“

His brother shifts, wings just about breaking from his vessel before he reins them in again.

“I want to meet Sam.“

Michael frowns. “I must say I don’t understand your continued fascination with that man.“

“It’s not just that.“ Lucifer turns to face him, the undercurrent of tense, barely contained energy more apparent than ever. “Don’t you want to know more about what is happening to our brothers? Sam Winchester knows; he’s part of the battle against Metatron. Don’t tell me the bare minimum Father left us with is enough for you.“

Michael grows rigid, any inflection he’s slowly learning to use gone from his voice.

“Father left us with bare minimum because He doesn’t want us to interfere.“

“Doesn’t he?“ There’s a dangerous glint in Lucifer’s eyes Michael recognizes all too well, even translated through a vessel. “The way I see it, he told us we don’t _have_ to interfere, not that we can’t if we want to.“

“All the same. His wish is clear.“

Lucifer grits his teeth.

“Aren’t you _done_ following his every wish? Trying to guess what would please him most, ending up punished when he can’t even be bothered to tell you that he’s changed his mind? He pretty much told us to do whatever we want, let us go without a single command, and you’re still dead set on following his instructions even though he told you you’d already done that more than he’d ever expected or wanted you to. He _admitted_ as much. Aren’t you done?“

The tension between them builds, stretches, snaps. It bursts out of Michael, the thing they so very carefully haven’t talked about on these rare occasions they felt the need to talk at all. “Don’t tell me it sits well with you that Father apologized to us!“

Lucifer falls silent.

Michael watches him for a while, then sags as relief floods him, even if it means he had been wrong about his brother. It means that in all his otherness that was always such a fundamental part of him, even after he Fell and became the Adversary, he still is and remains an angel.

“It should,“ Lucifer finally speaks after so long that it feels like an entirely different conversation. “I’m the one who used to point out his mistakes, long before he knew he can make any. It should.“

But he doesn’t sound vindicated; he sounds bitter, and above that, as lost as Michael feels.

He can’t align his wings with Lucifer’s because Lucifer has them folded inside his vessel, so he tentatively raises a hand to touch his shoulder. As unsatisfactory as the brush of fingertips against fabric is, it’s better than nothing and it fulfills its purpose, if Lucifer’s wry half-grin is anything to go by.

“So. Detroit?“

For the first time in an eternity, Michael laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I didn’t know I needed: Lucifer having an opportunity to play the younger brother. :)
> 
> I’m still not entirely sure when I’ll post the next chapter; I suspect I’ll need to figure out more of the plot before I finish it. But I’ll do my best, as always.  
> On related news, I’m starting to think that there’s no way in Hell I will manage to tell this story in the 30k I mention in the tags. The plot keeps growing on me, the damned thing.  
> What have I gotten myself into?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING just went up for some potty language. Not to mention I intend to include some more fun reasons for higher rating later. (Way later, sorry.) Still haven’t decided if it will go up to Explicit…

“What do you mean, he didn’t do anything? You have the fucking Devil in your head again, Sam! When the hell were you going to tell me?!“

Sam holds in the sigh and the eyeroll that wouldn’t help anything. The talk with Dean is going about as well as expected. That is, not at all.

“I’m telling you now. It was just a few times, and I wasn’t sure he’s real,“ he reiterates. “I’m still not sure, but it got to the point when it’s worth checking out. Dean, he says Gabriel is alive and working against Metatron. If that’s true-“

“You know it isn’t. Cas said-“

“Cas said _Metatron_ said Gabriel wasn’t real. Doesn’t mean it’s true. Hell, for all we know, Metatron might actually believe it. Play around with the illusion while the real Gabriel is hiding somewhere, preparing his move.“

“Because we now trust fucking _Lucifer_. In your _head_.“

“We don’t. We can’t even if we wanted to, because we don’t know if he’s real. So let’s find out.“

Dean watches him for a long moment, his hands gripping the back of a chair as if he needed to ground himself.

“Fine. How?“

This is going to be the difficult part.

“He agreed to meet me in Detroit.“ He tries for his most level tone, but in the end he can’t hold Dean’s incredulous stare.

“He agreed-“ Dean throws his arms into the air and slams them against the chair again. “Fucking perfect. So now you have a date.“

“It’s not a- Dean. Don’t you think it’s kind of important to know if he’s out of the Cage? So yeah. I asked him for proof and he told me to meet him.“

“So what? You’re going to walk in there so that he can have some more fun with you? Is that what you want?“

Sam pales. “Dean-“

“No, really. Is that what you want? Because I don’t fucking know what you want anymore, Sam. First you get angry at me for saving your life and now this! Gotta say, going to the guy who fucking _tortured you_ is an upgrade!“

Sam takes a deep breath and balls his hands into fists so that they stop shaking.

“He’s not going to do anything to me,“ he says queitly.

Dean sneers. “And you know that how?“

“Because I know him.“ Sam is finally at the end of his patience. “Because I’ve been possessed by him – an experience which you so happily made me repeat – and I _know him_. He says he doesn’t want me for a vessel anymore, he’s telling the truth. He says he doesn’t want revenge, he’s telling the truth. I’m not saying he won’t change his mind, but he will not trick me. So yeah. I’m going to walk in there, and unless we do something stupid, I’m reasonably sure we’ll walk back out. If you’re with me.“

Dean watches him, lips pressed into a thin, angry line, and Sam wonders if this is the moment his brother finally gives up on him.

He wonders if he wants him to.

“Abaddon first,“ Dean says.

“Dean-“

“No. You said it yourself, chances are it’s all in your head. Abaddon comes first. We don’t get any new clues within a few days, fine, we’re going to Detroit.“

Sam hesitates, then sighs.

“Alright.“

“Good.”

There’s nothing good about the situation and they both know it. Sam stares at Dean’s white-knuckled grip for a moment longer, not too eager to look up to see a stranger’s expression on his brother’s face. He should mention it could be Metatron’s trap. He really should. But there’s only so much he can handle in one conversation, and there’s time. Lots of it, apparently.

He turns and leaves without another word.

o.O.o

The building is empty, even more hollowed out and unwelcoming than it was when the brothers visited it last, if marginally warmer. The window pane on which the Devil once doodled his trident is broken, only a few shards remaining in the frame. There is a ratty mat in the corner, but it seems abandoned. Food wrappers swept by the wind line the wall and the entire room smells faintly of stale piss whenever the nearly constant draught stops for a moment.

There is no sign of the fallen archangel. No sign of anybody else, for that matter.

No trap either.

“See? Empty. Let’s go.“

Sam makes a face. Dean’s foul mood barely lifted since before they – no, since before _Dean_ killed Abaddon, and the closer to Detroit, the worse it got. He can’t help but wonder whether it’s because his brother believes the trip is useless or because he’s already itching to kill something else.

“It’s been over a month since Lucifer agreed to meet me here,“ he feels the need to point out. “Even if he’s still around, do you expect him to wait here 24/7?“

“He’s an angel. No skin off his back,“ Dean mutters but relents, wandering to check something on the far wall. “Hey, let’s leave something here so that he knows to wait, get some sleep, check back in the morning. If he’s still not here, we’re going back to the Bunker. I’m not going to waste any more time on your dream buddy than that.“

“Dean…“

“Don’t. Just… don’t. You wanted to come here, we’re here, but this is not a goddamn picnic. We have things to do.“

Sam clenches his teeth to keep a few choice words behind them. Before he can come up with something less antagonistic, there’s a rustle of wings.

Sam freezes with his hand halfway to where he carries his angel blade, his breath stuck in his throat.

He has forgotten. Somehow he has mercifully forgotten how it feels to stand in the same room as the real Lucifer, not just his dream projection. The way he seems to take up all the space available to him without even trying, the way his presence charges the air and makes the shadows seem deeper and the light colder.

Except that he doesn’t have all the space for himself, not today.

Sam’s first thought is _Adam_ , coupled with old pain and guilt, and then an odd mixture of hope and helpless rage. For those few seconds Sam thinks that the Devil brought his younger brother with him as a bargaining chip. But there’s nothing of Adam in the youth’s straight posture and unwavering gaze, and Sam’s stomach lurches even lower.

“Michael.“

That’s _Michael_ standing there side by side with Lucifer. Whatever chance he and Dean had if the Devil decided to make any trouble just dropped to zero.

The archangel fixes him with a stare, but it’s Lucifer who speaks with a strange little smile.

“I thought you wanted to see me, not my brother?“

“I… Yes. Yes, I did.“ Although at the moment Sam can’t remember why it seemed like a good idea. Except perhaps for information. Lucifer and Michael both out and working together, that’s a damn important piece of information.

Lucifer spreads his hands, amused. “Real enough for you? Want to touch?”

Sam swallows. It should be easier like this, with the barrier of flesh and distance between them and the material world around to ground him, but he’s getting flashes of space that is no space at all, angles and energies human mind isn’t made to comprehend, and he has to grit his teeth and close his eyes for just a moment to avoid giving away even more. He could swear he can see the archangel packed away in his vessel, the burning cold fire of him that once consumed him.

“How come you are wearing Nick again?“ His voice sounds hollow to his own ears, wrong, and he didn’t even consciously arrive at the question.

Lucifer shrugs minutely, considers it for a bit, then gives an answer that isn’t an answer at all.

“It’s one of the only two vessels I’ve ever had, and the other one wasn’t an option.“

His tone is purposefully light, and somehow he made himself – not smaller, but less intense, less threatening, as if question and answer could be a game to play, even now, with the past they share. It’s not a game Sam wants any part in, but then he notices Dean moving slowly, silently behind the angels’ backs, and to distract the prey is too much of a second nature to not follow it.

“Really? You’ve never taken a vessel before?“

Lucifer’s expression turns thoughtful, as if that wasn’t exactly where he wanted to derail the conversation. Or maybe it confuses him that Sam would fall for that so easily.

“The idea never seemed particularly alluring,“ he admits, strangely earnest. “To share such confining living quarters with a human soul.“

Dean is closer now, eyes fixed on the back of Lucifer’s skull as if nothing else existed in the whole world, and it strikes Sam then that his instinct to play along because his older brother always knows what he’s doing didn’t account for the Mark’s influence. This is a supremely bad idea and he needs to out Dean before it’s too late, somehow making it seem like Dean didn’t just try to sneak up on the Devil-

It’s already too late.

Michael frowns just sligtly, starts turning to look over his shoulder and Dean makes his move, two long steps, the Blade raised-

Lucifer pivots on his heel and catches his forearm in a crushing grip, his other hand coming up to press against Dean’s forehead and just like that, Dean crashes to his knees-

“Too easily corrupted,” the Devil finishes the thought, all traces of civility gone-

“No!“

Sam lurches forward, just a step before his mind catches up to instinct and he knows he’s too late, too far, too weak to change anything, and the will to move fails him. Lucifer stops and his eyes cut to him, burning with disdain and fury.

Lucifer stops.

Sam barely dares to breathe even as panic speeds his heartbeat. He knows he should say something, negotiate, beg, anything, but his mouth refuses to form words: he’s terrified the first sound he makes will shatter the spell and have Dean killed.

“Did you really believe you can kill me with a weapon I have created myself? I would’ve thought you’d learn your lesson after the Colt but instead you’ve grown stupid.“

Sam finally gets his voice to work, even though it doesn’t sound much like him at all.

“It wasn’t a plan. I swear.“

Which doesn’t do Dean any favors, Sam belatedly realizes. He glances at his brother, only to find him immobile as a statue, teeth bared in a soundless snarl.

“What are you doing to him?“

Lucifer raises an eyebrow at him, not very pleased with his tone, but after a short while decides to humor him.

“The Mark is mine. By accepting it, Cain put himself willingly under my direct control. You know me, Sam. Do you think I was about to create something as powerful as the original Knight of Hell and let it loose?“

Sam swallows. His throat feels too narrow and strung taut.

“Let him go.“ It’s somewhere between a command and a plea and utterly weak. Lucifer has no reason to do so; as long as he has Dean on a leash, he can control Sam, too. Unless he decides to kill Dean instead, in which case Sam doesn’t have anything to threaten him with. Not even the Cage – for all he knows, it might not even exist anymore.

“Why?“ Lucifer’s tone is conversational, but the anger keeps simmering beneath it.

Sam finds nothing. Nothing that could compel the Devil at least. If their positions were reversed, Dean would doubtlessly be able to hold on to his bravado and whip up at least some bluff of a threat, but Sam has had enough and he’s falling apart. He can’t lose Dean, not ever and especially not like this, not after he brought him here on a hope that Lucifer might not be the enemy this time.

“He’s my brother.“

It’s the only thing he can think of to say, and it’s more of an admission of defeat than an argument.

“No, he’s not. He’s little more than a demon by now and it’s what he chose for himself. You know that, don’t you? He had to give full consent to take on the Mark. I gave Cain the original. I know how it works.“

Sam has to take several breaths before he can trust his voice not to fail him. His eyes sting.

“He’s still my brother.”

Absently he wonders if Dean can even hear him. If, in case he dies, he will at least go knowing Sam cared.

If it will mean anything to him, or if the corruption went too far already.

“Can you cleanse it from him?” The question is entirely without inflection and Sam flinches; he’s forgotten Michael is in the room. Lucifer turns to him, seemingly just as surprised he spoke.

“Yes, I could,“ he finally allows after what seems like a small eternity. He and Michael continue staring at each other, Michael stone-faced, Lucifer somewhere between curious and challenging. Whatever communication is between them, it goes far beyond anything Sam can understand. He glances at Dean, hoping for some sign he’s aware what is happening, maybe even just playing along, preparing for some last-minute save, but there’s no change in him whatsoever. Sam's eyes snap up back to Michael the moment there’s the smallest of movements from him.

“Seeing him like this disgusts me,“ he says, voice flat as if it didn’t matter, as if it was some sort of supreme divine truth and not a statement that could change the fate of a living, breathing person.

Lucifer smiles. He smiles but doesn’t comment, even though he could; there must be countless ways to provoke something more out of Michael at this point and he seems to ponder them for quite some time before he shrugs minutely and turns his attention back to the man kneeling before him.

Sam has barely a second to watch the Devil’s expression turn hard. His presence fills the room again, heavy and oppressive, and the temperature drops so deep Sam’s next exhale comes with a puff of white and the damp floor cracks with ice. There are shadows moving over the walls, long-fingered, too huge to determine whether they form the shape of wings.

Dean roars in agony.

Sam yells in a futile protest and makes two more steps closer before he realizes it’s not a smiting. There’s light, blood-red like a branding iron, but it comes from the point of contact where Lucifer’s fingers dig into Dean’s arm, not from the man’s eyes. Lucifer doesn’t even touch his forehead anymore, holding his hand slightly away from his body as if for balance, the line of the limb as tense as the rest of him. Whatever is happening, it doesn’t feel like mercy; it feels like reclaiming and it’s taking its toll. The air is crackling with power, primal and vicious like a hailstorm.

Then it’s over. Lucifer releases Dean’s arm, fingers stiff as if the energy passing through them was too much for the vessel’s fragile structure of bone, sinew and muscle. Dean drops to sit on his haunches, eyes wide. Lucifer looks him up and down, gaze critical and intense as if he saw through his skin to his soul. Which is probably true, because the next words out of his mouth are:

“I did what I could. The Mark is gone. He will have to crawl his way back to humanity on his own, whatever that is worth.”

Dean flinches as if Lucifer’s voice yanked him back into reality. Sam has never seen him move backwards on his hands, feet and ass so fast. He nearly backs into Michael in his attempt to put some distance between him and the Devil. The archangel steps out of his way, face blank as ever.

“What the hell!“ Dean shouts when his back finally hits the wall. He scrambles to his feet, looking wildly from Lucifer to Michael, to Sam and back to Lucifer as if he saw the occupants of the room for the first time, and holds the Blade as if he could still use it. But he seems alright, if a little out of it, and Sam stomps down the need to immediately go check on him. That the two archangels didn’t do anything hostile yet, baring self-defense, doesn’t mean they wouldn’t. He’s gotten himself and his brother into this mess, he needs to get them back out. Delicately, considering the tempers and power levels involved.

“What the fuck are you two doing out of the Cage?!“

Except apparently Dean’s bravado came back online quicker than his brain.

Lucifer cocks an unimpressed eyebrow at Sam as if telling him to keep his pet idiot under control. Under the circumstances, Sam is inclined to agree.

It’s Michael who responds, miraculously without a hint of anger.

“God released us.“

Sam glances at him, then his eyes snap back to Lucifer. He looks tense, expression carefully blank, all his defenses back up again.

“God.“ Dean’s voice drips disbelief. “As in the actual God, not Metatron.“

“Metatron is no God.“ It’s hard to recognize anything in Michael’s tone except for his trademark righteous arrogance, but somehow the reply was too quick, too decisive even for him. The tension in his posture is different from Lucifer’s. He’s poised, rather than withdrawn.

Dean’s mouth twists in irony. “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t get the memo.“

“What is it to you?” Sam interrupts. “What Metatron did to Heaven, to the other angels. Are you fine with that?”

The way Michael turns to him, light on his feet, Sam could imagine the wings on his back, spread wide for balance.

“Of course not. What Metatron has done is unforgivable.”

“Good,” Dean says, drawing Michael’s attention back to himself. “So what are you going to do about it?“

In the long silence that follows, Lucifer smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaand CUT :P Because I don’t want to make you wait for a monster chapter and this does conclude one part of the encounter.
> 
> Anyway, time for a warning regarding this fic. I said the relationship between Sam and Lucifer won’t be abusive and I stand by that, but that doesn’t mean it will be entirely healthy. I don’t think it can be, with their background. On the other hand, I intend to bring them as close to that as possible, and I definitely believe they will be both better off than if they didn’t have the other. Which is the most important part, right?
> 
> On a different note, I don’t have very high confidence regarding writing nowadays, and this chapter contains two things I normally struggle with a lot: an argument and an action sequence (if only a tiny one). So I’d be very happy if you could tell me if they worked for you. Seriously, even something like “argument yes, action no“ would be useful. And of course I would love to hear from you if you have anything else to say. :) Promise, I don’t bite and I can handle criticism.
> 
> Till next time!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was supposed to be just a quick coda to the previous chapter. Then the rest sort of… happened to me.  
> Does a philosophic / religious discussion warrant a warning?  
> Just a reminder: God in this ‘verse is pretty far from perfect, especially as a parent. Um… He tries?

The conversation after that is long and chaotic. Sam keeps quiet for the first part of it, content to watch his brother badger yet another angel into helping them. After a while he realizes Lucifer is doing almost exactly the same, only joining in whenever the discussion threatens to devolve into a shouting match. It happens several times; Michael likes Dean about the same Dean likes Michael. Regardless, they manage to work out the “if” and move on to the “how” with only a few hiccups along the road. It’s almost too easy and it makes a nasty suspicion settle in the pit of Sam’s stomach.

In the end he closes his eyes and gathers his courage.

_“Lucifer. Lucifer, do you hear me?“_ It doesn’t feel as fundamentally wrong to pray to the Devil as he thought it would, and he’s almost sure that in itself should make him uneasy, but it doesn’t. He opens his eyes just in time to catch Lucifer looking at him with a very strange expression on his face, before he puts on his best neutral mask and glances towards their older brothers who are too involved in their debate to notice. Lucifer looks back at him, eyebrow raised, and then nods very slightly. Sam tries to stay in the right state of mind.

_“Can you say it?“_

He’s rewarded by Lucifer looking positively confused.

“Yes, I hear you,” he allows. “I am also right here. What is this about?”

“Metatron. Apparently he can create an illusion of an angel, not to mention the whole surroundings, good enough to fool another angel. But I figure, not even he should be able to intercept a prayer that has a specific recipient, so…” Sam shrugs.

“He also wouldn’t be able to stop Dean the way I did,“ Lucifer points out carefully.

“The real Dean, no.” Sam sees his brother glance their way, disturbed by their little separate conversation, and discreetly flashes him a couple of signs for ‘no foul play, go ahead’. He hopes Dean gets it. It’s been quite some time since they shared good news this way.

Lucifer hums his understanding and turns back to their brothers, who are discussing angel factions. Most of it is old news and Dean looks appropriately bored with it all, but Michael is apparently the type to gather every available piece of information before he decides on a move. Sam keeps glancing at Lucifer. This should definitely feel less normal, especially after everything that happened earlier. Instead it feels like the calm after a storm; the air has cleared (figuratively if not literally) and both archangels shrank into far less dramatic versions of themselves. Especially Lucifer feels, ironically enough, almost human.

“Thank you,” Sam says, and means it.

Lucifer gives him a curious look.

“For erasing the Mark,” Sam elaborates. “I know you didn’t do it for me, but...“ He shrugs. “Just, thanks.“

Lucifer’s gaze on Dean is thoughtful.

“He’s still dangerous, you know?“ It sounds like a warning, and almost like an apology.

“Not to me.”

“Sam.” This time, it’s definitely a warning.

One corner of Sam’s mouth twitches upwards. “He’s not. I’m not stupid. I know he would be, eventually. But not yet. So, not anymore, now that the Mark is gone.“

This time, Lucifer looks at his own brother and his expression doesn’t betray anything.

Sam follows his gaze. “So you worked it out, huh? Wouldn’t think that was possible.”

Lucifer’s face stays neutral just a moment longer before it twists into a smirk that looks equal parts genuinely amused and ironic.

“As it turned out, it was a matter of time.”

Sam remembers his talk about eternity and decides it best to leave the topic.

 

The conversation gets a little more four-way after that. In the end they decide that Michael and Lucifer will try to find Gabriel while Dean and Sam will continue to track Metatron’s moves and gather information on him. The last point that they need to solve is how to share what they learn, because a prayer only goes one way and neither Dean nor Sam are too happy with the idea of having to reveal their position whenever they want to talk.

Which is how Sam ends up teaching the Devil how to use a cellphone in a dingy motel room somewhere on the way back to Lebanon. It’s 1a.m. and what started two hours earlier as a quick demo of the most basic use quickly evolved into an exploration of every little function the device offers, down to the freaking calculator. Turns out Lucifer’s contempt for humanity doesn’t extend to its inventions. When he starts to experiment with recording his own voice, utterly fascinated with the way it sounds different from what he hears from the inside of his vessel, Sam can’t help but feel that his life just took a sharp turn for the surreal.

A day later Lucifer asks him if he can stop by again with a new phone. Apparently he couldn’t resist the temptation of trying to record his angelic voice and fried the first one.

Considering the new device has significantly more functions and Lucifer treats it like a twelve year old enthusiastic about a new gadget – that is, only somewhat aware that he should try to act cool about it – Sam has his doubts about how accidental the accident really was.

Yeah. Definitely surreal. But he can’t say he minds. He should: that’s _Lucifer_ folded into the rickety motel room chair next to him, poking at the cellphone carefully cradled in his other hand, flashing a triumphant little smirk when he manages to write out a whole text message at once with a bit of Grace so tiny the device survives it. But they have two brand new powerful allies for the time being and that is frankly all Sam can bring himself to care about at the moment. Yes, he knows it’s temporary. The two archangels are bound to have their own agenda, probably having something to do with reclaiming Heaven and taking lead of the Host (although Michael grew shifty when Dean mentioned it and the silence between him and Lucifer suggested some sort of disagreement or hesitancy). For now, though, they need Metatron gone as much as the hunters. Even better, they aren’t a threat to Cas: When Dean declared him off limits (all fierce protectiveness backed by as much bite as he could muster), Michael haughtily informed him that no matter what he personally thinks of Castiel and his crimes, their Father’s favor is clear and he has no intention of going against His wishes.

Come to think of it…

“Lucifer?“

“Hmm?”

It’s astounding how _normal_ can the Devil appear when he wants to, especially when he’s still immersed in his experiments with technology.

“Regarding Cas. You never said your piece.”

That gets Sam Lucifer’s full attention, if the clever, straightforward gaze is anything to go by.

“Worried?”

There are many things Sam could say to that, and none of them would be in the spirit of their new alliance. He settles for a: “Can you blame me?”

After a thoughtful moment something like regret passes over Lucifer’s face. The shift is so subtle that Sam wonders if he merely sees what he wants to see.

“No,” Lucifer admits and the tone matches the expression, just as ambiguous. He pauses, considers, takes a breath. “I’m not a threat to Castiel, as long as he isn’t a threat to me.“ It is, unmistakably, a promise.

“A threat to your life or a threat to your plans?“

“I don’t have any plans you don’t know about.“

„Uh-huh.“

Not that Sam wouldn’t normally trust Lucifer’s word. He does, possibly more than is healthy, but this is ridiculous.

Lucifer watches him for a moment, then turns fully to him. He doesn’t set aside the cellphone the way a normal person would; instead, he holds it loosely between his palms, possibly forgetting it’s there.

“I want to find Gabriel, as we agreed. I would protect myself. I would protect you. And Michael.”

The last is softer, almost hesitant as if Lucifer surprised himself by it, and Sam scoffs.

“Yeah, I got the memo.”

It earns him a bemused look. For some reason, that makes anger surge up through Sam.

“You exploded Cas for something that didn’t even really hurt Michael, and that was when you wanted to kill him yourself. I spent all that time in the Cage thinking Cas – and Bobby – are dead because I haven’t managed to stop you in time. So yeah. I got the memo.“

He’s not even sure if he’s angry at Lucifer or at himself, for forgetting so easily everything the Devil has done, what he could have done if he hadn’t been stopped. For being so fine with his presence just a moment earlier, so desperate for a bit of peaceful companionship that he would take it from anyone. He really should know better.

Lucifer has the audacity to look taken aback. Hurt, even.

“I was… upset,” he offers tentatively.

“Being upset is no reason to kill someone!”

“I… know.” Lucifer leans forward, face blank as if he forgot to animate it in his focus on Sam, on his reactions. He doesn’t even breathe besides what he needs for speaking. “Try to understand. I had spent so long alone in the Cage. I had thought about what I’d do when I finally get out, but I couldn’t truly do anything. I got… unused to the idea of consequence. The awareness that what I do is real and I can’t just imagine it a different way when I become unhappy with it. Of course I knew on some level. I never truly lost my mind, although I swear I thought I would, so many times. But the knowledge didn’t come naturally anymore, and at that point you and Michael had all of my attention. I couldn’t afford to be distracted. I couldn’t spare the thought.“

“That’s…“ Sam gives up and runs both hands over his face, not for the first time wondering what he has gotten himself into. “Alright, I get it, you are the prime example that imprisoning people doesn’t make them better – you and Gadreel both, damn him. But you can’t just say something like that and expect it to make everything alright. You still did it. It was your first reaction: Someone annoyed you at the wrong moment so you killed them. Besides, when you put it like that, how am I supposed to trust you won’t do it again?“

“I wasn’t alone this time,“ Lucifer says softly. “I had Michael. And… you, however shortly.“

He unfolds his palms in what is probably supposed to be an open, maybe even imploring gesture, and nearly drops his phone. He stares at it for several seconds as if surprised by its existence, then carefully places it on the table and makes the gesture anyway.

“You said it yourself. I have changed. I want to change.”

Sam swallows, fights to keep in mind that while the Devil doesn’t outright lie, the way he presents himself is misleading more often than not.

“Yeah? Why would you?”

“Because I can.”

Lucifer looks like it is some big revelation and Sam frowns, trying to puzzle out the meaning or come up with the right question. It’s clear there’s something he’s missing.

Lucifer must come to the same conclusion, because after a few seconds he explains:

“Angels aren’t supposed to change, Sam. We weren’t created that way. I truly thought my only chance was to follow the script and win the battle at the end. But then I faced Michael and Dean wasn’t there, even though he was destined to be the Vessel. I started to doubt. I took my chance, tried to escape the script. You know how that went. I concluded Dean’s resistance was just a small hiccup. It was men who were given free will, after all, not us. Never us. But then you offered another way out, and I… hesitated.“ Lucifer gives a small smile, surprisingly genuine. “I was curious, I must admit, just how far that free will of yours can take you. If you can pull it off. And you could.”

“I still don’t understand.“

“What can a creature that cannot change do in a world that’s changed, Sam? Only two things: Give up, or break it in an attempt to recreate a shadow of its former glory. I had been destined to try the latter, and you wouldn’t let me. I was then released, I thought, on the condition of the former. And I was going to try, I swear, because anything would be a lesser punishment than the Cage. Then you told me I have changed. I started to wonder, what if I did? What if I could? And it made me realize, this is what Father was trying to tell us when he released us. He has changed.“ He pauses, swallows, repeats: “He has changed.” As if the implications were too great to voice, even for him.

They probably are. Sam was never much for philosophy – being raised on the road and in motel rooms taught him to mostly go straight for whatever got him the best grades with minimum time invested – but this is in line with those little paradoxes Jess had loved so much, if not even one of them: If God can change, then He either wasn’t perfect before, or He isn’t perfect now. But if He can’t change, then it’s something He can’t do.

He nods hesitantly, wondering if Lucifer will try to turn this somehow into one of his tirades against God. That’s not where Sam wants to go. He’s avoided thinking about God since the Apocalypse, because every time he dares, he ends up with something along the lines of _that asshole who abandoned his kids and wouldn’t return no matter what they do_. That’s not how Sam Winchester, of all people, should think about God.

“I believe,” Lucifer says quietly, softly, but the intensity of his conviction could burn cities to the ground. “I have to believe. If Father can change – then so can I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this wasn’t even my headcanon a few days ago. Definitely not for Lucifer.  
> Those of you who have read Whit Merule’s incomparable In His Image may recognize the idea from there. Those of you who haven’t read it, go look it up here on AO3 right now. It’s hands down one of the best pieces of literature I have ever read.
> 
> Huge thank you to everyone who left any kind of feedback on the last chapter – actually, who left any kind of feedback to me, ever. I treasure comments the most, but I appreciate everything else as well. You all warm my insecure heart and help me write as fast as I can. Even you, my silent lurkers. I know you’re there, I see the hit count. :) Thank you for coming back for more.
> 
> If things go as planned, the next chapter will be plot-heavy. If it gets long and the opportunity for another cut presents itself, would you rather get a shorter chapter with a cliffhanger soon, or would you rather wait for a longer, resolved one?


	8. Chapter 8

It took ‘The Doomsday Duo’, as Dean dubbed them, less than two weeks to find Gabriel’s location.

“You can’t use Gabriel’s Horn without Gabriel, that’s not how it works.“

Sam can hear Lucifer outright preening over the phone and he has to suppress a grin.

“Uh-huh. And why didn’t you mention that little detail in Detroit?“

There’s a momentary silence.

“Between you and me, I think Michael wasn’t as sure as he makes it sound now.“

Lucifer’s voice is somewhere between smug, amused and fond, or possibly all three, and the grin breaks free after all. They haven’t really talked since they last met in person. Lucifer showed up once while he was sleeping with an offer of another dream, but Sam declined, not entirely sure he is comfortable with that now that he lost the benefit of the doubt. Meanwhile, though, it seems that his mind has helpfully decided to treat his former tormentor and his current ally as two entirely different beings – sort of like the ‘before’ and ‘after’ images on the fat reduction ads. Consciously you know the difference between the two is smaller than they would have you believe (if any at all), but your eyes still see a big change.

It is a dangerous illusion, but since it means Sam can talk to Lucifer without freezing in fear every other moment, he can’t find it in him to complain.

“Either way, we needed to wait for Metatron to use the spell once more, because we needed the link between the Horn and Gabriel. It led us somewhere, but it won’t be easy to access. It is isolated, nearly inaccessible to humans without help, I think, and from what we were able to see, there is angel warding, but between us and you we should be able to get in and out without much trouble.“

Sam considers the info for just a moment.

“You’re saying you need an angel to get in, and a human to get out, is that it?“

“Probably.“

Sam grimaces. “It’s a trap for us.“

There is a short pause on the other end.

“I don’t think Metatron knows about us yet, Sam.“

“Not for you. For us and Cas. Far as I know, we are the only mixed angel-human team out there. But you’re right. Metatron won’t be expecting two archangels with their wings intact. If you’re helping, that is.“

“Of course we are.“ Lucifer sounds slightly offended. “Gabriel is our brother.“

Sam keeps any comments to himself.

“Are we even sure he is actually there? Can’t it be an illusion?“

“He could have been moved after we’ve found the place. Otherwise, no.“

“Alright. Let me tell Dean and call you back so that we can figure out when and where to meet.“

o.O.o

Out of all the tired cliches, Gabriel’s prison is under New York City, accessed via an abandoned section of the subway tunnels. Charlie would love it. Dean’s thoughts seem to go in a similar direction, because he has a minor geek out when they see the first obstacle before them.

“Dude, that is some Dungeons & Dragons shit right there.“

It’s the first time since they met up with the two angels that Dean is anything other than sullen and suspicious, and Sam hates to spoil his mood.

“Yeah. It also has ‘Trickster’ written all over it.”

From what Michael and Lucifer were able to find out, the first set of obstacles is designed to keep out ordinary humans. Extreme heat, extreme cold, poison, Sam wouldn’t be surprised by freaking dart traps and blades coming out of the walls. For a mortal, going through all that would be impossible, at least without some government-level high tech equipment. For an envesseled angel, however, it is barely unpleasant, and a human with an angel friend can pass as well if the angel uses their mojo on them to heal them continously through all that. The catch is, if it was Castiel with them and not two archangels, he would be lucky to be able to take one of them with him – and he’d probably still end up considerably drained before they’d reach the first layer of angel warding (which is the farthest Lucifer and Michael could explore without revealing their presence).

Dean nods, brief moment of enthusiasm all but forgotten.

“Remind me again why we think Gabriel isn’t happily working for the douchebag?“

Michael fixes him with a cold glare. “He isn’t.”

“Sorry pal, gonna need more than that.“

“Mainly because we don’t believe Metatron would risk having an archangel as a free ally,“ Sam interjects before the two can start arguing. “Also, according to Cas, Gabriel said he’s folowing some sort of script. Can you imagine Gabriel willingly following anyone’s ideas but his own?“

“…Point.“

Dean squares his shoulders and gives Michael a very unenthusiastic look. “Alright. No time like the present, I guess.”

Michael presses two fingers against his forehead and they vanish. Sam nods at Lucifer, more concerned about being close to his brother than about entrusting himself to the Devil’s powers. He still has to suppress a flinch an instant before Lucifer touches him, but the familiar vertigo of angel flight and the need to take in his new surroundings take his mind off the momentary contact very quickly.

They’re past the ‘dungeon’, because whoever prepared it couldn’t expect the Winchesters to come with the two angels in existence apart from Metatron himself who still have their wings. The line of wards on the cement floor before them is more complicated than anything Sam has ever seen. If the obstacle course behind them screamed ‘Trickster’, these betray the Scribe’s hand, because not even Lucifer is sure what some of the symbols do. The angels exchange a brief glance before Michael steps up to the painted wards. Lucifer hangs back with the hunters, presumably to protect them in case anything in there had a tendency to explode.

Michael doesn’t bother with subtlety. He draws his sword, drags its tip across the first sigil and once the hairline scratch renders it inactive, he wipes it out completely. Working quickly, he clears out a section wide enough for them to pass.

Knowing Metatron has most likely just been alerted to their presence, they rush into the opening and through the passage before them, keeping close to each other, blades drawn, as cautious as they can be while moving swiftly. Not that it would help them much in case of an ambush, unless they wanted to escape via angel express, but that’s no excuse to abandon caution entirely.

The short, narrow corridor leads them to a well-lit hall with way too many doors on both sides, any of which can hide an army.

It’s most likely just a tactic to slow them down, but it is efficient: they can’t afford to leave the doors unchecked. They move in pairs, one on each side of the hall. Lucifer and Michael take the lead, having a better chance of surviving any surprises, while the Winchesters act as backup. Sam exchanges an uneasy glance with Dean. The arrangement makes sense, but it’s strange to not be the first ones in any given danger.

It looks as if someone took a part of an abandoned office building and transferred it here. Some of the doors don’t even lead to a room, instead opening to a rock face barely a foot or two in. What rooms are there are empty or look like storerooms, cluttered with desks, filing cabinets or bookcases. Most of them are barely illuminated by the light from the hall, the electricity not working there. They can’t afford to search those thoroughly, but at the very least they can make sure there aren’t any hostile angels in sight. They find several more sigils, mostly intended to dull angelic senses, and destroy them as quickly as possible.

None of the rooms lead them to Gabriel, or even another corridor. They gather at the end of the hall and Dean grimaces.

“Hidden door, you think? Let me tell you, this shit isn’t half as much fun in real life.“

Sam mirrors the grimace.

“Let’s just hope it is a hidden door somewhere around here, and not in the obstacle course back there.“

“Yeah.“

The hunters draw out flashlights and they all start again at the beginning, figuring most people would continue the search in the opposite direction. They are nearly to the half of the hall when Dean and Michael finally find something. Their catch is heralded first by scrape of a heavy piece of furniture against the floor and then Dean’s:

“You’ve got to be kidding me.“

Sam rushes over, Lucifer in tow.

There’s a honest-to-god differently coloured section of a brick wall, the pale rectangle of it suspiciously door-sized. Lucifer hums and runs his fingers over the edges.

“Watch out for dart traps,” Sam quips, silently swearing to kill Gabriel when they finally find him.

The words are barely out of his mouth when there is a click of a lock being unlocked, followed instantly by an almost inaudible _snick_ of another mechanism.

Lucifer glances down at the small dart, complete with a cheerful tuft of what looks like red down feathers, currently sticking out of his abdomen. He picks it out, twirls it between his fingers.

“I believe that was supposed to be a tranquilizer,” he says with a shadow of a smirk on his lips. He lets go of the little syringe and crushes it beneath his heel.

Sam remembers to breathe, his inhale far too loud in the silence. Lucifer throws him a short amused look over his shoulder before he turns back to the door, raising his hand again to open it.

The next second his knees buckle under him and he goes down like a sack of potatoes. Sam catches him before he hits the ground, mostly by virtue of standing directly behind him. His first reflex is to look around for attackers, but there are none; Dean is already doing the same, cursing succinctly under his breath. His second reflex is to check for a pulse. Before he can find it, Michael is already kneeling next to them, palm pressed against his brother’s sternum, alarm written all across his normally expressionless face.

“What is it?“ Sam demands. “What the hell can knock out an archangel?“

At least the vessel is breathing, the pulse steady, if slow.

“I don’t know. I can’t find him.“

“Find him? As in-“

“He is lost within the vessel, I think. He must be in there somewhere, but he is unable to connect to it. I don’t know if he is…“

Sam swallows.

“Alive?“

Michael spares him a quick glance, clearly unimpressed. “Conscious.“

Dean frowns. “Screw this. You can find Gabriel whenever Metatron uses the Horn, right? So let’s get out of here.“

Both Michael and Sam look up at him, but he doesn’t see them at first, his back turned, eyes fixed on the door to the room as if expecting attackers any second. After a moment he glances down at them.

“What? We can’t leave him here when this whole set up smells of a trap, we can’t wait for him to wake up for the same reason, and we can’t drag him around with us. You get a better idea?“

“Aww, didn’t know you cared.“

They all turn to Lucifer, who is grinning faintly up at them, his eyes open and lucid. He blinks slowly, then heaves himself up to sit. He closes and opens his fists a few times, rolls his shoulders, and rises on steady feet.

“Now that was interesting.“

“You are alright?“ It escapes Sam before he can stop himself. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Dean giving him a strange look, but he shakes it off; maybe he shouldn’t have asked, but it is natural to be concerned for an ally, especially in the middle of enemy territory. Besides, Dean doesn’t have a leg to stand on, he’s the one who wanted to abort the mission for Lucifer’s sake just a moment ago.

Lucifer hardly pays either of them any attention anyway. Michael rose with him and now just stares at him, poised; there’s a sort of misplacement in the air that makes Michael look somehow larger than his vessel and a strange hush settle over the room.

Lucifer smiles easily and briefly clasps his brother’s shoulder. Only then he turns to Sam.

“Yes. It wasn’t intended to hurt me, just sever the connection between me and the body long enough for the tranquilizer to kick in. Clever little thing, that. Not strong enough against me.“

“You went down like a log,“ Dean feels the need to point out.

There’s a spark of something unpleasant in the look Lucifer gives him, but his tone is mild enough. “Not for long, I believe.“

To Sam’s relief Dean just nods, not looking very happy about it. “So. Door. Let’s go.“

It’s Michael who pushes the door open. It swings silently on an axis in the middle of its width, revealing another narrow corridor behind it, completely dark. A quick look doesn’t reveal any sigils, so they step into it, uneasy. As a place for a trap it’s all too perfect.

It doesn’t disappoint. They’re halfway towards what looks like another door when there’s a loud clang and a metal sheet falls down behind them, blocking their way out.

“Dammit!“

The light from the flashlights reveals the panel covered with sigils. Nothing too harmful, it seems, just enough to prevent the angels to use anything against the obstacle.

“It still allows flight,“ Lucifer remarks with satisfaction.

“That’s good. But I think this is the part where any traps will be mainly against angels. So we should go first.“

“Fucking finally.“ Dean doesn’t waste time to forge ahead. Sam falls into step just a little behind him, breathing a little easier now that he doesn’t feel like a luggage dragged around by the angels. Being here is a supremely bad idea, but it needs to be done, and the familiarity of that situation is, ironically, almost comforting.

The door at the end of the corridor looks remarkably normal, if a little old-fashioned: wooden, with a keyhole big enough to make lockpicking primitive and a tarnished brass handle. Dean eyes it with suspicion.

“Another trap, you think?“

“Probably,“ says Michael. “But not a lethal one, so you can be easily healed. Go on.“

Dean grimaces at him and presses the handle.

To their surprise, the door opens without a hitch. Light pours through, making them blink even as they try to prepare for an attack that doesn’t come. They barely have the time to take in the room before them – huge and cluttered with cushioned furniture in rich earthy colours – before there’s a cheerful voice from the couch in the center.

“Ooooh, my brave saviors, boldly going where no man with half a brain would ever go! Welcome to my humble abode!” For a supposed prisoner, Gabriel looks remarkably fine, if a little out of place in a faded canvas jacket. He grins at them as they carefully step in, to the edge of a luxurious rug covering most of the floor. “I must admit, I am kind of happy to see-“

That’s when he spots the two angels entering behind the hunters. Sam has never seen him pale so fast.

“What are you two doing out of the Cage?“

It’s as if for a second he forgot how to play his usual obnoxious self. There’s barely any inflection to the question, just shock.

“Father released us,” says Michael, because if Gabriel momentarily lost his masks, Lucifer seems to have lost his voice. Michael looks somber, which is nothing new, but there is an undercurrent of _something_ that makes his usual level voice a struggle as he adds: “Hello, Gabriel.“

Gabriel gives him a weak, uneasy smirk.

“Hey, bro.“

After several tense seconds Gabriel shakes his head. He points with his finger and makes a circle to encompass the whole rescue party. “Aren’t you four supposed to be mortal enemies? What am I missing?“

Dean makes a face. “Mostly Metatron.“

Lucifer hums his agreement. “A little bird told us you’ve been working for him, little brother. We came to find out why.“

His voice is too soft for the mocking words, almost wistful.

Gabriel gives him a sharp look.

“Well, it might come as a surprise to you, big bro, but I actually like living.“

The last two words are said with enough vicious emphasis to make Lucifer swallow anything else he might have wanted to say. He looks devastated. Gabriel stares him down, then his eyes slip away as if he couldn’t bear to look at him.

“So, if either of you bozos could get these off me, that would be most appreciated. And then we could get out of here.“

As he extends his arms to them, his jacket sleeves ride up, revealing a wide metal band on each wrist, gleaming with gold. Dean makes a beeline for him. Sam reluctantly follows, but Lucifer's voice stops him.

“Sam? Could you?“

He’s eyeing the rug the younger hunter just stepped on. It takes Sam just a few seconds to catch up and look under.

“Yeah, there’s that,“ Gabriel comments calmly.

What the rug covers is an elaborate angel trap – and this one won’t be so easy to destroy. It’s carved into the tiled floor, the ridges filled with gold. Sam draws the rug further off to get an idea how big it is.

Gabriel must have a much smaller space to himself than it seemed. The couch he was sitting on (possibly without one of the armrests), the low coffee table in front of it with a small pile of books stacked on it, a corner of an enormous bed with heavy curtains, but the rest of the furniture in the room is out of his reach.

Sam frowns and looks at Gabriel, who is keeping an eye on Dean inspecting the cuffs.

“Was this one of your own hideaways, before..?“

“Nope. Just didn’t know Metatron will be that much of a dick when he let me furnish the place.“

Gabriel says it as if it wasn’t a big deal, but then he adds mournfully: “Wouldn’t even let me keep a TV.“

Dean chooses that time to speak up: “Dude, these won’t come off so easy. There’s not even a lock.“

Gabriel turns his attention back to him, rolling his eyes. “You don’t say? I haven’t noticed.“ He leans forward, catching Dean’s gaze. “Break them.”

Dean glares at him. “With what, genius?“

“Angel blade.“

Dean’s expression turns incredulous. “Do you hate your wrists so much?“

Gabriel smiles at him. There’s not a whiff of humor within a five mile radius of that smile. There’s something feral instead. Feral and cornered. He’s practically vibrating in his skin. “Archangel, remember? ‘Long as you don’t sever them, I can heal. And I want them _off_.“

“There’s a trick with dislocating your thumbs, if you’re that desperate,“ Sam joins in.

“Been there, tried that. They won’t slip off. Now, can you _please_ get on with it before that sicko and his mooks appear, or do you want to wait and throw him a birthday party? You know, with us all as the gifts?“

That’s when there’s a low rumbling sound and an outline of another door apears not far from the one through which they entered. A panel that seemed to be a part of the wall just a moment ago rides up. Angels spill out from the hidden corridor, faces grim, silver swords gleaming in the warm light of the room.

Sam moves between them and his brother before he can process what he’s seeing, and then he just grips his own blade tighter.

“You had to jinx it, didn’t you,“ he hears from behind him, but his attention isn’t on Dean, it’s on the angel who leads the ambush. And on Lucifer, who had to retreat to the side together with Michael.

Lucifer, who smiles a slow, delighted, cruel smile.

“Hello, Gadreel.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES, I’M EVIL. I know.  
> Also, poor Gadreel. This isn’t a nice reunion.  
> One of these days I will write a piece of utter fluff so that I can be nice to all the characters all the time.  
> Today is not that day.  
> I’d love to hear your guesses what will happen now. :)
> 
> To be even more evil, I don’t know when the next chapter will be up. It will be probably another long one and most of my precious child-free time next week is going to be eaten by much less fun obligations. But as always, I’ll see what I can do.  
> See you!


	9. Chapter 9

“It is you, isn’t it?“ For being on a side that is heavily outnumbered, Lucifer looks mostly amused, his stance deliberately relaxed despite the sword in his hand. “Gadreel, the mighty Wall of God. A little worse for wear, I see.“ He seems to be enjoying himself, every leisurely spoken word like a drop of poison into an open wound. “Not that it matters that much. We both know where your true weakness lies, don’t we?“ He tilts his head just so and knocks on his temple with his free hand, smiling softly. “There.“

Gadreel stares at him, eyes riveted to him as if nothing else existed in the room, lips pressed into a thin line and face white as a sheet. Whether that is with fear or rage or both is hard to say.

“You lied to me.“

The smile doesn’t falter. “No. I didn’t. You simply assumed too much. A fatal flaw in a guard, that, wouldn’t you agree? I was always curious, though – had Father warned you I might come, or did he trust you too much?“

Nobody else in the whole room moves. Nobody else speaks. Sam frowns, trying to puzzle out what is wrong with that picture. Gadreel brought ten angels with him, but it is clear they hadn’t expected to find what they did: a few look determined and ready for anything like the good little soldiers they are supposed to be, but the rest of them are clearly agitated, some alarmed, some uncertain, glancing – mostly – between their leader and the two angels who shouldn’t be there.

That’s when it clicks.

Two archangels.

Even ignoring Gabriel, who probably couldn’t do anything much from within the trap even if he got Dean to break his cuffs, there are two archangels in the room. Despite being outnumbered more than two to one, it’s not Sam’s side that is at a disadvantage here, and the angels must know it. If they recognized Lucifer, they surely recognize Michael as well.

Michael, who doesn’t say a word. He must know these angels; they might not need to fight at all, there must be some that would be still loyal to him if he only called on them, but he doesn’t. In fact, he seems to be avoiding eye contact with any of his lesser siblings, even those who try to seek it out; instead he is staring unwaveringly somewhere into the middle of the group, mute as if he didn’t have any agency of his own.

It’s more than strange, but at that moment Sam spots one of the angels sidling back into the corridor the attack force spilled from, and he forgets the mystery as another realization hits.

“The gate to Heaven! There’s no way they were waiting for us the whole time – there must be a gate to Heaven through there! We can attack Metatron!“

There’s a rustle behind him that sounds surprisingly like a short scuffle, but he doesn’t dare to look. Instead he moves to the edge of the trap, preparing to support Lucifer and Michael in the fight. The enemy angels close ranks, startled from the standstill. Even Gadreel takes a step back and finally looks around to take in the whole situation.

The fight doesn’t break out, though. Michael and Lucifer stand prepared but they don’t attack, even though the angel Sam first noticed already darted out, presumably to bring reinforcements. Gadreel’s gaze slides over Sam, over Dean and Gabriel behind him, returns to Sam. Jumps between Lucifer and Sam, the sentry turning, if that is possible, even paler.

“Sam Winchester. Are you here, in this company, out of your free will?“

Sam gapes at him. He wishes Gadreel wasn’t so easy to read, because that’s concern plain on his face, and there’s more behind that; he looks scared of the answer as if in some twisted way it was important to him what happens to his former vessel. Sam is starkly reminded that Gadreel knows his history with Lucifer – and why he knows – and it takes all his willpower not to go after the angel’s throat right there.

“You. You are the last person on Earth who has any right to ask me that.“

Gadreel surprisingly has the decency to avert his gaze. Not for long, though. Of course not. Sam steels himself for whatever will come out of his mouth next, but before the angel can say a word, Lucifer interrupts:

“Ah? And whatever did you do to my True Vessel?“

Sam shudders. That’s the voice of his nightmares, that deliberately false light tone. The Devil shifts just a little, the movement both tense and fluid like that of a coiling snake, and beside him Michael moves half a step closer to cover his flank. Then the words sink in and a wave of fury washes away the instinctive fear. Sam bites back the reaction that wants to boil out of him, but it is a close call; it wouldn’t do to tear into Lucifer in front of their enemies, but that is the only thing keeping him back.

Gadreel, at least, doesn’t notice the seed of conflict, his attention inexorably, inescapably drawn to his oldest adversary like light to a black hole.

“Is that what this is? Are you trying to get him back as a vessel? Are you unable to look at a man and see a being worth of its own existence? Do I even need to ask? It’s _you_. But hear this: This man saved the world from you once. Whatever your scheme, he will do it again.“

“Hmm.“ Lucifer regards Gadreel with open curiosity, the tip of one index finger tapping against his lower lip. “Are you sure about that? Because from where I am standing, it seems you’re the one Sam’s gonna need to save the world from.“ He opens his arms, all false innocence. “You see, here I am, on his side, not hurting anybody – yet – and there _you_ are, serving a false God who threw all our little siblings out of Heaven and turned the natural order of things upside down. Which, come to think of it, threatens everything including your precious humanity. Isn’t it curious how thoroughly we have exchanged sides? Or is it simply that you don’t care anymore? How sad, to see you like this. You used to be a hero. Look at yourself now. Crippled, reduced to a lapdog of an upstart scribbler who will turn on you the moment it suits him.“ He pretends to think for a second. “Maybe it already does. You are here, aren’t you? Bravely standing in our way. A precarious position to be in for any angel, but especially one as weakened as you. Do you really think Metatron didn’t know about us? Do you think he’ll send help? Or have you already outlived your usefulness?“

Whatever it is Lucifer is trying to do, it doesn’t seem to be working. Gadreel listens, he does, but he doesn’t react to anything save for an occassional deep inhale through his nose at a particularly painful jab. Sam notes carefully where these are and catches himself wishing it wasn’t Gadreel’s mortal enemy raising those questions, because with every passing moment it makes less and less sense that Gadreel is on Metatron’s side. But whatever his reasons, his actions speak loud enough.

It takes the sentry a moment to gather himself to respond, but when he does, there is not a shred of doubt in it.

“Words. It’s all you have, isn’t it? I know you now, and you will not deceive me again. You would not hesitate to strike if you truly had the upper hand. However you escaped the Cage, you paid a price, didn’t you? You came out wrong. You are not archangels anymore.“ He steps forward, firm and self-assured. “Pretend all you want, but your threats are empty. You do not hold the power here. You should surrender.“

Sam looks at the two archangels, startled. There are several tense moments of utter silence, heavy and oppressive. Lucifer dropped the mock pity and now regards Gadreel with a look of ice cold rage. He doesn’t move, however, and with every passing second dread creeps higher the hunter’s spine and Gadreel’s soldiers grow more confident. A few of them glance over at Michael, but when they aren’t even acknowledged, they visibly fall in line, prepared to fight.

“No can do, bucko.“

Sam flinches at the unexpected voice – and he’s not the only one. Gabriel smirks, reveling in the sudden attention.

“You see, my bros over there may have gotten smaller, but I sure as hell didn’t. So, hate to break it to you, but you still have an archangel on your hands. You want to go about it the good ol’ dramatic Old Testament way, you will have to deal with me.“

Gabriel, of course, doesn’t cut a very threatening figure. Compared to all those armed and ready angels, he looks a little out of place, just an average, unassuming guy with a slight smile and a faded jacket. But his eyes are clear and sharp on Gadreel, even as the sentry points out calmly, with something akin to gentleness:

“You can’t do anything in there.“

Gabriel’s smirk widens. “Watch me. Luci? Michael?“ The smile slips as if it never existed in the first place, tension replacing the casual demeanor in an instant. “Trust me. _Fight_.“

Lucifer lunges. Gadreel barely blocks his attack, pushed back several steps before he gathers himself and retaliates. It’s enough to scatter the ranks behind him, make the angels hesitate for just a moment, and then Michael is there, covering his brother’s flank, driving them further.

The first kill is his, the sharp light of a burning Grace almost too much to look at, and the fight breaks out in earnest.

“Dean, now!“ Gabriel commands from behind Sam, but the hunter doesn’t have the time to look as an angel in a female vessel braves the edge of the trap to attack him. He parries, grabs her hand and tugs hard. The soldier stumbles as she crosses the circle, and then cries out when he buries the blade in her side.

He lets go of her and she goes down, clutching at the wound. He kicks her sword out of her reach and jumps to take out another angel from the fringes of the battle. A third one comes at him and he backpedals into the trap, momentarily safe as his opponent hesitates to follow.

Behind him, Gabriel screams. None of the combatants can afford to spare him any attention. Michael and Lucifer are fighting like one, knowing each other’s moves better than their own, but that is also the only thing keeping them alive. Michael battles three opponents at once, unable to do more than hold them off and keep them from driving him from his brother’s side. Lucifer holds his own against Gadreel, but barely more than that. Luckily, the sentry is too used to fight alone, too used to hold his ground and cover as much space as possible by himself to allow for another soldier’s aid.

Two angels hurry around the walls, circling the trap to get to the former archangels from behind. One of them loses balance on that enormous bed, half buried in the too soft mattress, but the other hardly slows down.

Brief moment of respite over, Sam rushes in and blocks his way just as he’s preparing to attack. The first blow nearly sends him to his knees. The second comes a hair’s breadth away from ending him on the spot, the sharp pain flaring from the cut across his scalp a welcome alternative to getting a blade through his eyesocket.

Gabriel screams again, but Sam is too busy trying not to get killed to comprehend what it might mean. Then Dean is at his side just as the other angel arrives and the fight goes from impossible to survive to almost even. Sam silently swears to practise swordfighting more if they ever get out of this, because with this length of the blade it’s almost a knife fight but not quite, and that ‘not quite’ has nearly cost him his life three times within the past fifteen seconds.

“Careful, boys!“ calls Gabriel cheerfully into the din of the battle. “The floor is about to get interesting!“

It’s enough to get every single person in the room to pause. Even Sam’s opponent steps back so that he can safely find out what is happening. Sam takes the opportunity to do the same – just in time to see Gabriel bent over where the couch once was, jacket sleeves drenched in his own blood. The rug is gone, too, as is one of the tiles in the floor, and Gabriel reaches down, heaves and pulls something out.

The outer edge of a lever.

There’s a loud click that resounds through the room, and then some more metallic clacking like cogs of a clockwork, and then the tiles in the floor closest to Gabriel begin to move.

Up, down. Up, down.

Gabriel straightens, grinning widely, and from him a wave of tiles gone crazy spreads slowly like the tide, creating a pattern like chess board in 3D, the neighbouring tiles always at different heights, each moving like a piston. Sam watches in fascination as they reach the inner edge of the trap, where the tiling is carved and connected by lines of pure cast gold.

The hidden mechanism slows. Grinds to a painful halt. There’s a second of charged silence, everyone’s eyes on the golden circle.

There’s the thing about pure gold, though: It’s soft. The first sigil gradually bends where one tile pushes it up and the other recedes into the ground. Just a moment more and it pops out of its stone bed. Then a second one, on the opposite side of the trap.

Gabriel lets out a triumphant whoop. He’s grinning again, wild and unrestrained, and as more and more sigils get destroyed, a wind is picking up from nowhere.

“Never let a Trickster build his own prison. It tends to have locks on the inside,” he quips. “Buckle up, boys! I haven’t had the opportunity to do this in a long, looong time.”

Even as he speaks, his eyes flare gold, then brighter, until it’s as if there was sun hidden behind his eyelids. His skin lights up from the inside, face and palms first, and there’s a noise, clear like clarion call, a single, triumphant note heralding the presence of the Archangel of Judgment.

He is not grinning anymore.

That’s when the moving tiles that never stopped spreading reach the first combatants and the fascination that held everyone immobile breaks. Sam pushes himself against the wall, feeling rather than seeing Dean right next to him. The light is quickly becoming unbearable; the sound broke into the regular overwhelming screeching of an angelic voice and it’s all Sam can do to hold the blade blindly in front of him in a futile attempt to prevent any last minute attack from his opponent. Not that it would matter, he thinks a little desperately. There’s no way he’d survive an archangel going nuclear not thirty feet from him.

But then the cacophony piercing his ears somewhat dulls, the light dims to a level that doesn’t threaten to boil his eyeballs anymore, and when he chances peering up, both Lucifer and Michael stand between them and Gabriel, backs turned to the hunters. The light does strange things around them, disperses in shafts like sunlight being filtered through a forest roof on a misty morning, and Sam’s breath catches in his throat when he realizes what he’s looking at, even if he doesn’t see the thing itself but only the effect it has on another angel’s Grace.

He and Dean are being protected by a shield of angel wings.

It is necessary, too, which is why the former archangels can’t do anything when Gadreel finally commands his force to retreat. The sentry himself crosses the half broken circle of sigils to help his injured sister. Half carrying her, he brings up the rear together with Sam’s last opponent. For just a moment he stops in the entrance, casts a last unreadable look at each of his enemies and then he’s gone.

The lightshow that is Gabriel ceases almost immediately like fire being turned off on a gas stove, blessed silence descending on the room. Sam blinks several times, trying to get used to normal levels of illumination again. The archangel looks suddenly small in the middle of the destroyed circle, without all that power emanating from him. He picks his way to them, kicks one of the sigils with gleeful satisfaction, sending it skittering across the uneven ground, but close up, he doesn’t seem to be doing all that well.

His wrists are still bleeding, mangled much worse than they seemed from a distance. It’s doubtlessly only thanks to his powers that he could use his hands at all. For a moment there is silence as Gabriel seems to be hesitating between one of his trademark quips and just giving in to the exhaustion now that they are all safe. But there is tension, too: these are the brothers Gabriel claimed to love, the same he had run away from; both nearly destroyed the life he built for himself afterwards and one of them killed him. He doesn’t look like he expects an argument, though, much less a fight. Frankly, most of all he looks like he could use a hug.

Not that Sam would ever admit he just thought that.

Michael wordlessly presses two fingers to Gabriel’s forehead. Grace flashes in the open wounds as they heal. The brief vulnerable expression that crosses Gabriel’s face at that is something that should have remained private; something that would be more in place on a little kid whose big brother just put a band-aid on his scraped knee. Sam averts his gaze and Dean straightens his shoulders in that way he has instead of clearing his throat.

“We should get out of here,“ he reminds them all, looking at nobody in particular. “I’m guessing we don’t want Metatron to show up right now after all.“

Gabriel perks up immediately.

“Good idea! Don’t get me wrong, it was cozy in here, but the scenery is kind of lacking. Except that, um,“ he peers at his brothers, a little bit sheepish, “you’ll have to help me along if we’re going to fly.“

Michael frowns, looks him over. “Were you injured in the Fall?“

“Nope! That one’s all on Metadick.“ Gabriel seems to be back in his game: the cheerful façade fractures, but holds.

“I’ll kill him for this,“ Lucifer promises him softly.

Gabriel looks up at him, sceptical. “The protective older brother routine, Luci? Really?“

Lucifer opens his mouth but can’t seem to find the right words at first, and then Dean’s patience runs out.

“Hey. Hey! Can we please catch up later? Somewhere safe?“

“That would be wise,“ Michael agrees, giving his siblings a pointed look.

Lucifer hesitates, then slowly lifts his hand to clasp Gabriel’s shoulder in a silent question. Gabriel regards him for a tense moment, then sighs and nods.

“The flight will be less pleasant like this,“ Michael informs the two humans.

Before they can react, he touches them both and takes them away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now this chapter was fun :) Even if I got stuck on the confrontation between Lucifer and Gadreel for a while and still don't think I got Gadreel's voice right :(  
> I'm really looking forward to writing the aftermath, too. You know, return to building the relationships for a chapter or two (or three?) before the next bit of plot hits. Considering I'm nearing the 20k mark, I guess it's about time to really start working on the Samifer part of the story, wouldn't you agree? XD


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who wants an early chapter? :D

Lucifer will kill Metatron.

Gabriel may doubt him all he wants, but seeing his little brother so purposefully crippled makes rage boil through his insides and up his spine. Gabriel had to release his wings to help along as much as he could, because a seraph has about as much hope of moving an archangel as does a comet of diverting a planet from its course around a star. Lucifer took a very good look at them and committed them to memory, so that when the time comes, he knows exactly how much to take from Metatron’s hide before he lets him die.

They aren’t even torn, or burnt. They are clipped, there’s no better word for it in any human language. An angel’s wings, on their deepest level, are what connects the angel to the world around him. They are so much more than just limbs that allow flight; to have them injured is bad enough, but to have them stumped like this means that Gabriel couldn’t reach out from his prison at all, probably didn’t know where he is, and was isolated from everything beyond his immediate surroundings, alive or otherwise, as completely as Lucifer himself in the Cage. If it wasn’t for his brother’s guidance, Gabriel would fly so completely blind that he could end up in the Earth’s core just as easily as in San Francisco a century ago.

Following Michael’s lead, they land back at the shore the two eldest angels left for Detroit all those weeks ago. Gabriel immediately folds away his wings, trying to pretend everything is alright, but one look at Michael’s stormy expression makes clear that he saw, even though he spares Gabriel’s dignity and doesn’t comment.

The hunters arrived safely as well, but it was apparently a rough ride for them: Dean is slightly green and Sam looks like he hasn’t found his balance yet. But it wouldn’t be Dean Winchester if sheer bullheadedness didn’t carry him through mere physical discomfort.

“So. Congratulations on nearly getting us all killed. When the hell were you two going to tell us you’re not archangels anymore?“

It’s interesting, really, that Dean always turns instinctively to Michael, while Sam looks for Lucifer’s reaction. Lucifer wonders if they are even aware of it.

“Only if it became absolutely necessary.“

“As in ‘walking into a trap half-cocked‘? That kind of necessary?“

“We were still at an advantage. We can fly and Metatron was expecting only Castiel.“

“Yeah, except that if it wasn’t for Gabriel, it wouldn’t have been enough, now would it?“

“Can I ask you something?“ Lucifer interjects in a carefully chosen tone of mild curiosity.

“What?“

“How many angels have you two killed in those past few years?“

Dean is many things, but he is not stupid. It doesn’t take him more than a couple of seconds to understand – even if he has a considerably harder time to let go of the anger.

“That’s… Okay. Okay, I get it. But we’re on the same side here. We need to know these things.“

Lucifer very nearly smiles. It’s so very Dean, that earnestness – as if he wasn’t the one doubting the angels’ intentions at every turn. At least until they entered the prison complex. Then he seemed to honor the alliance without hesitation. So very interesting.

Michael nods solemnly and that is also interesting; Lucifer can’t get enough of a read on him to determine whether he decided to trust the hunter or is just humoring him. They will need to talk about that.

“Is that the reason you didn’t try to command Gadreel’s angels?“ Sam speaks up, addressing the eldest.

“No.“ He takes a moment to gather his thoughts – or to decide whether to elaborate, more likely. “It isn’t my place to create another faction. It is enough that we got involved.“

Gabriel perks up. “What do you mean?“

Lucifer shrugs. “We didn’t get any orders when Father released us. You could say he expected us to take a vacation. We don’t think he minds that we decided to take a side, especially your side, but taking over Heaven might be pushing it a little.“

Gabriel looks from one to the other.

“He talked to you.“

Lucifer smirks. “You asked him to, didn’t you?“

“I what? No. I-“ Gabriel stops himself. “I don’t remember anything. I was dead – thank you so very much for that – and then I wasn’t. I figured it had to be Dad – who else? – but that’s it.“

“He didn’t command you to lead the fight against Metatron?“

Michael looks disturbed and Gabriel snorts. “No. Me? Leading anything? Please. Metatron got to me first, shame on me. And yeah, after that you can bet your ass I would go against him, but I sure as hell wasn’t about to let any of the sibs in on that.“ He grimaces. “They would want me to return to Heaven, to mop up the mess you two left behind. No thanks.“

“He told us to leave Metatron to you.“

“He told us we _can_ leave Metatron to you,“ Lucifer corrects softly, because while those weren’t the exact words, everything depends on Michael not changing his mind about that.

Sam frowns, forehead creasing in a way that makes Lucifer want to push his finger against the patch of crinkled skin just to see if it will smooth out. “You think it was some sort of a test? A ‘save your brother without me telling you to do it’ sort of thing?“

Lucifer exchanges glances with Michael, somewhat relieved when Michael looks as uneasy about the possibility as Lucifer feels.

“Maybe,“ he concedes.

“Does it matter?“

He gives Dean a sharp look – and he’s not the only one. The man shrugs as if he wanted to lift his hands in surrender but couldn’t be bothered to make the effort.

“Look, I’m not saying it’s not important. But unless He shows up and talks to you again, we won’t get anywhere with guessing. The only other way we have ever seen Him give an opinion on anything was by bringing somebody back from the dead. Don’t know about you, but I’d really like to avoid dying this time around. So the only thing that matters is, are you still with us on this or not?“

And that’s precisely why Lucifer likes Dean. That defiance of all authority – painfully gained, if Sam’s memories can be trusted. He looks to Michael and raises an eyebrow.

Michael doesn’t respond at first. And Lucifer knows him, now better than ever, he knows what the idea of being tested must be doing to him. He wishes he could show support, but Michael wouldn’t like him to do that where Gabriel can see. It’s an unspoken agreement between them, to stand strong in front of their younger siblings, even the closest ones. It always was.

Michael looks back at him. It strikes Lucifer that he has no idea what he’ll do if Michael says no. He doesn’t want to find out.

“It does matter what Father wishes. It will always matter to me.“ Michael is facing Dean, but Lucifer knows the words are aimed just as much at him. “But until we have orders, the only thing we know for sure is that He is not pleased with Metatron. Yes, we are with you.“

Everyone looks at Lucifer then. It makes him happier than he thought it would to grin and shrug with a casual: “What he said,“ and watch the disbelief on his younger brother’s face.

Gabriel points between them. “You two-“

“It’s been a very long time,“ Lucifer tells him.

“Can we stick you back in whenever you start to argue?“ Gabriel asks wistfully.

Michael frowns at him. “That is no joking matter.“

Gabriel looks briefly abashed, about to apologize and change the topic as he always did, but then he lifts his head and meets his gaze straight on.

“You know what? I’m not joking. If it’s the only thing that can make you stop, I will stick you back if I have to.“

Lucifer narrows his eyes. “Careful, little brother. Don’t take this too far.“

Wrong thing to say. It’s like sticking a finger into a bowl of seemingly calm water only to have it boil over.

“There is no ‘too far’! You tore Heaven in two with your endless fights! You were about to destroy the planet! You killed me so that you could continue butting heads and you didn’t even hesitate.“

It’s painful to see Gabriel so broken, the joy that used to define him turned into a weapon. Even worse to know he had a part in that.

“It wasn’t easy,“ he offers tentatively.

“Geez, thank you, that makes everything better.“

“We believed it’s Father’s will,“ Michael says equally softly. Lucifer wonders how many times they will need to repeat that before they are finally allowed to turn a new leaf.

“Yeah. You had to believe that, didn’t you? Well here’s a thought: That He knew you’ll destroy everything including each other doesn’t mean He wanted it to happen. Maybe that’s why He didn’t stick around for the showdown!“

Lucifer’s jaw twitches, but he won’t give Gabriel the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him. Not this time. Schooling his face into an expression of mild curiosity, he tilts his head.

“Do you always tear into anybody you have at hand? Because from what Father said, you did something similar to him.“

Gabriel’s eyes snap to him, startled, then narrow in suspicion.

“You’re kidding.“

Lucifer smiles. “No, I’m not. Seems that you had all sorts of opinions about what he did to us – and didn’t hesitate to let him know. Maybe we should thank you. You convinced him to explain at least some things, apparently. Even though he didn’t seem very happy about it.“

Gabriel stares at him, mortified. Glances at Michael, hoping for him to give up the joke, but when Michael only looks back, impassive, he turns back to Lucifer. “How am I even alive?“

Lucifer grins. “Maybe it was better to send you back than letting you pester him.“

Gabriel looks like he might be sick, which is both a pleasure to see and a curiosity, since it reveals how much in tune with his vessel he really is.

“Well. At least now we know why He wouldn’t let me remember any of it. Could have been worse.“ He visibly gathers himself. “So. Metatron.“ He seems happy he has something else to focus on; eager to have a job to do, to appease the Father he allegedly offended. It’s another proof that God truly has become more lenient since they all knew him. Gabriel always had a healthy survival instinct; if he dared to criticize their Father in any way, he must have been sure he can afford it. One of these days Lucifer will tell him as much, but not now; letting him stew for a bit is the least Gabriel deserves for that threat regarding the Cage. That really wasn’t nice of him.

With carefully concealed smugness, he tunes back in to what Gabriel is saying.

“-gone completely nuts, uses spellwork I’ve never seen before, is immune to the banishment sigil and probably would have been able to beat me even if he didn’t get a jump on me – which is a feat in itself, mind you. Have anything to add?“

Dean takes it as his cue to join in. “Yeah. He’s immune to pretty much everything: holy fire, angel warding, you name it. Apparently, he knows everything about angels now because he’s somehow using the Angel Tablet. Cas thinks the Tablet is the key to reopening Heaven, but even if we get our hands on it, we don’t have anyone to read it.“ He pauses. “Wait – can you lot read it? Being archangels and all?“

“Nope. You need either the Prophet or the Scribe for that.“

“The Prophets are gone,“ Michael says. “Metatron stopped the line.“

Dean scowls at that, but says nothing. Sam frowns, too, and shifts his weight, glancing away before he forces himself to return to the conversation.

“Metatron is using some sort of spell, like a portal, to allow chosen angels back to Heaven. It’s our only way to get at him, but first we’ll need something strong enough to beat him. Or somehow stop him from using the Tablet to strengten himself.”

“Which probably won’t be as easy as stealing it from him, even if we knew where he keeps it,“ Gabriel grimaces. “So we still need to know what is in it and how he’s using it before we go for it, but for that we already need the Tablet. As in, we can probably get the Prophet back, but-“

“What?!“ It’s Dean who interrupts Gabriel, but Sam looks equally shocked. Gabriel glances at them both and then shrugs, feigning disinterest.

“Well yeah. It wouldn’t be easy without being able to tap directly into Heaven’s power, but with my juice and a little bit of-“ His eyes shot to Michael before he continues almost seamlessly: “-my special skills it should be possible, especially if we get the body – and if Metatron isn’t holding the soul. I mean, Heaven is entirely closed for business, right? The souls can’t pass the Veil?“

“That’s true,“ Michael says slowly and exchanges glances with Lucifer.

“Well then. You don’t get to stop being the Prophet until you die, which is when the gift passes on to another in line. If there’s nobody to whom it could pass, chances are you simply don’t stop being the Prophet. Worth a shot, right?“

Dean looks faintly ill, as if he just learned he started another Apocalypse with the best of intentions.

“I burned the body.“

Gabriel studies him for a moment, sharp and clever, and then his mouth quirks. “Please. When was the last time that stopped anyone? Give me a few bones and plan Prophet is a go. If,“ he raises a finger, “we’re sure we can get the Tablet somehow. As I said, it’s not gonna be easy. As in, we do this, and what chances I have at beating Metatron one on one pretty much drop to zero, so it better be worth it.“

“We might not need the Tablet itself,“ Michael says thoughtfully. “For now, we need just the information. Remember the time Father showed it to us? I couldn’t read it, but I can recreate what I saw. It won’t hold the same power, but if all three of us do this, we should have most of the knowledge for the Prophet to decipher.“

Lucifer throws him an appreciative glance and nods, but Gabriel grins sheepishly.

“I’ll leave that to you, then. I remember squat. Took one look at it, found out I don’t understand a thing, stopped paying attention. Sorry.“

Lucifer shakes his head. He recalls the power of the Tablet, how fascinated both he and Michael were with it for the short moment God revealed the artifact to them – and long afterwards, the layers of symbols burned into their memory like the sun’s image into a man’s retina. How very Gabriel to be able to look away so easily.

“It’s all the more uncertain, then,“ says Michael, frowning slightly. “We have to hope the Prophet is still a Prophet when we bring him back, and then we have to hope we remember the right portions of the Tablet.“

He catches Lucifer’s gaze just briefly as he looks at everyone in turn and Lucifer nods almost imperceptibly, grim. They have an understanding. The plan will work if God wants it to work. Now that could be true about any plan if their Father didn’t like to allow free will, but this time it’s not about anybody’s free will but God’s own. The Prophet will remain a Prophet if God chooses to give his old incognito another chance. He will find the right piece of information in what they scavenge of the Tablet whether they remember the relevant part or not. Only one thing is certain: revealing what they know to anyone, even Gabriel, is the surest way to make the plan fail.

“We don’t have anything better,“ Dean declares almost too quickly. Ah yes. If he was the one to burn the body, he was probably attached. Sam shots him a look that’s strangely stern.

“One condition,“ he says firmly. “We don’t bring Kevin back without his consent. We know that he hated being a Prophet. Maybe he won’t want to come back.“

Dean nearly gapes at him. “Are you serious?“

“I’m not doing that to anybody else, Dean. I want him back just as much as you do, but we can ask, so we will ask.“

There’s definitely a story here. Lucifer itches to get his hands on it, but it will have to wait. He will have better chance when they are alone. If they get to be alone.

Gabriel quirks an eyebrow at the hunters. “You have the ghost? Perfect! Let’s get the bones, then we can call on Casper. You two,“ he jabs a finger at his brothers, “are going to start on the Tablet first. I’m not wasting power if you can’t agree on anything in there. I wouldn’t put it past Dad to protect the thing with some sort of confounding spell. Let’s hope we’re not going to end up with a cheesecake recipe even if you do agree on it.“ He pauses, blinks. “Although that would probably be one _heavenly_ cheesecake. So. Where to?“

The hunters exchange glances.

“How about getting back to the Impala first?“ Sam suggests.

At the prospect of another flight, Dean groans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I’m trying to give the boys a break so that I can start on the actual Samifer bits, but the plot keeps getting in the way. But we’ll get there, promise!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an interlude. Hopefully you’ll find something interesting in it anyway.

The flight to the Impala is about as pleasant as the previous one, that is, not at all. It feels like being tossed around like a wet rag, except in fast forward; as per usual, the first surprise is that he actually lands on his feet, the second one, that he somehow stays on his feet despite the vertigo. Sam throws a worried glance in his brother’s direction, but Dean looks more disgruntled than at risk of losing his lunch.

“Still the same car? Brings back memories, doesn’t it? Miss having four wheels, Sammy?“ Gabriel is grinning at him, utterly unrepentant.

Sam makes a face. “Don’t call me that.“

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Right, because that’s the important part. Anyhow. I need to get a look at the ashes, wherever that is. The spirit is bound to a place or to something portable?“

“Portable.“

“O-kay, that gives us a little more freedom. We will need a safe place to put together the Tablet and the ritual. I’d offer one of my hidey holes, but it would be easier to bring the Prophet back somewhere where he already knows it. The more connection we get between the ghost and the place, the better. Any ideas?“

Sam glances at Dean, who looks as stubborn as a mule. Sam gives him a more emphatic look, but all he gets for his efforts is Gabriel lifting an amused eyebrow.

“Dean, can I talk to you for a minute?“

This, at least, isn’t shot down, although the moment they step away far enough to be (hopefully) out of the angels’ hearing range, Dean predictably starts with:

“We aren’t taking them to the Bunker.“

“We might not have a choice.“ The opening moves behind them, Sam takes advantage of Dean’s ‘convince me’ silence to quickly continue: “Look, I don’t like it either, but you heard Gabriel. Any other place you can think of where we could pull off Kevin’s resurrection? Ms. Tran had to get rid of their old house because of Crowley, right? Not to mention I really wouldn’t want to do this anywhere near other people anyway. Or on Garth’s houseboat,“ he grimaces.

“Did it occur to you that maybe Gabriel’s lying about that?“

Sam makes a face, because yeah, Gabriel is on their side, probably – most likely – but he isn’t insane enough to underestimate the Trickster’s curiosity.

“Even if he is. It might be in our best interest to have them there anyway. Metatron knows about the Bunker. We can’t ward it against him, because we don’t know if there are any wards that work on him. There probably aren’t. So we either have to leave the Bunker until this blows over, or we need allies there.“

“And you only realized that now.“

Sam does his best not to fidget under Dean’s sharp look. Probably unsuccessfully.

“Honestly… I didn’t want to abandon the Bunker. There wasn’t that much reason to: Metatron had made it pretty clear that he was going to leave us alone because he thought we can’t do anything to him no matter how we try. But by now he knows we’re with Lucifer and Michael. He will feel threatened by that. You saw those angels. Michael might not be interested in creating a faction, but the angels don’t know that, and neither does Metatron.“

“You’re saying that Metatron will attack the Bunker and you don’t want to give it to him without a fight.“

Sam shrugs. “Do you?“

“Not unless I have to. But it means it’s as far from a safe place as you can get. He will expect us there.“

Which is uncomfortably close to the truth.

“Look, Dean, all I’m saying is, at least talk to them? See if they have any ideas how to make it safe enough, or if it will be better to bring Kevin back somewhere else. There’s still a chance there’s something useful in the archives, but for that we need to have access to them.“

Dean watches him for several tense seconds. Sam holds his gaze with the best mix of ‘you know it makes sense’ and puppy dog eyes he’s capable of until his brother sighs, his shoulders sagging. “I hate this. The Bunker was supposed to be a secret base. With this, even if we deal with Metatron, we will still have Heaven and Hell’s two greatest douchenozzles _and_ the Trickster knowing where it is and how to get there. And we can’t put up angel warding because of Cas.“

“I know. It sucks. But one crisis after another, right?“

“Right.“ Dean still looks as if he had to chew on something decidedly disgusting. “Let’s get it over with.“

When they get back to the angels, Gabriel is smirking. Sam hopes it’s because he read their body language and figured out what it was about and who won and not because he actually heard them despite the distance.

“We have a place Kevin knew,“ Dean starts. “But it’s not exactly safe.”

o.O.o

They part ways several minutes later without much of a conclusion, although at least they managed to keep the discussion civil. That is probably the best outcome they could hope for, with the hunters determined to reveal as little as possible until they know it’s worth it, and on the other side Gabriel insisting that he needs to see the place before he can tell them if anything can be done about its security. Sam thinks it’s at least two-thirds bullshit, judging from the way Lucifer supported him with vague agreeing noises and a spark of interest in his eyes while Michael stood aside, refusing to have any part in his brothers’ antics.

Speaking of the Trickster, there’s a single beat of wings the moment they pull out of the parking place and the Impala dips under the added weight in the backseat. It says a lot about how much experience Dean has with suddenly appearing angels that his hands on the steering wheel barely twitch. That doesn’t mean he’s pleased, though.

“What the hell are you doing here?!“

Gabriel shrugs with an easy grin. “Hitching a ride, of course.“

“Weren’t you going to flap your way over to Marysville with the other two?“

“Nah. You two are way more fun to rile up. Besides,“ and he drops the cheerfulness almost completely, something else peeking through in his expression and tone, “they weren’t there for everything that went down since I died. Care to catch me up?“

Sam takes a moment to decide what that ‘something else’ might be, giving Gabriel his full attention. Gabriel, of course, catches him looking. He shrugs again, an aborted, one-shoulder gesture, but he lets the mood stay serious. Maybe it’s not even such an enigma. The guy was dead for several years; that must be disconcerting even for an archangel, and especially for someone who depends on being one step ahead of everyone for survival. At least that seems to be the case in the lore on Loki, and what they’ve seen of the real deal only supports it.

Sam finally turns back to the road.

“What do you know?“

“Better assume nothing. I come back, no idea how much time has passed, only to hear over the Special Heavenly Frequency most of the sibs are gunning for Castiel for throwing them out of Heaven, blaming him for conspiring with Metatron. I couldn’t exactly go to one of them for an explanation, and neither could I go to the pagans. Even if Kali kept my identity to herself, me coming up alive when everyone else got massacred? Yeah, that would go over well. So I got a week to get my bearings and to notice the scars after the Leviathan all over the world. I was just trying to figure out if they are still around when Metatron got the jump on me. Afterwards it was all world history, Metadick edition. I need to know which of the lies were the half-truths.“ When he doesn’t get any immediate answer, he looks from one to the other. “What was Castiel even thinking, working with Metatron? I presume that one will be a half-truth?“

Dean grips the wheel tighter.

“He wanted to close Heaven. With all the angels in it. Give them time to sort themselves out.“

Gabriel’s mouth falls open. “What?! Is he crazy? That’s the dumbest idea I’ve heard! The only one dumber thing I can think of would be to board up Hell!“

A very uncomfortable silence descends on the car.

“And why would that be such a bad idea?“ Sam asks cautiously before it can get really obvious.

From the look Gabriel gives them both, he’s too late.

“Please tell me you weren’t going to do that.“

Sam hesitates, eyes glued to the scenery in front of him, but there’s no use lying.

“We tried. I nearly completed the Trials, but Dean talked me out of it at the last moment.“

From the corner of his eye, he sees Gabriel throw up his arms in exasperation. “Well hallelujah, the Winchesters did something right for once! Do you have any idea about the consequences that would have?“

“You mean apart from demons being locked in Hell?“ Dean doesn’t bother to hide the sarcasm, although softened by the unexpected (and underhanded) praise.

“And souls getting locked out of Hell,“ Gabriel adds, his tone biting. “Let me break it up for you. You think it’s a mess that the souls destined for Heaven can’t pass the veil? Try to imagine this for souls going to Hell. You know, the murderers, the abusers, all those dickheads who didn’t give a shit about other people even when they were alive. If you think victims are a good material for vengeful spirits when they can’t pass, try the bad guys.“

Sam frowns. “There wasn’t anything about locking the souls out-“

“Because you are the experts on getting complete and reliable info on everything and messing with the metaphysical order that was in place since humanity got thrown out of Eden is always a great idea. Got it,“ Gabriel scoffs.

Dean throws him a look in the rearview mirror.

“Hey. Ease off, will you? No harm, no foul, we are not going to try again. Happy?“

Gabriel grumbles something unintelligible and shakes his head, but he lets it go. In the quiet that follows, Sam can feel himself gradually melting against the seat of the Impala, a tension he didn’t know about draining from his shoulders as he processes what has been said. It had seemed it was his selfishness that ruined everything; if he hadn’t chosen his own life over everyone he could save by locking the demons in Hell, Kevin would still be alive, and with him, so many others. But he doesn’t doubt Gabriel, not in this. It would have been so much worse if he had chosen to sacrifice himself this time. There aren’t enough hunters to deal with the influx of hauntings that would have followed, and even if eventually the events would create a fresh wave of hunters, it’s a question whether a balance would ever be established, and at what cost. The mere image should make his blood run cold. Instead, all he can feel is relief. Maybe he had made the right decision for the wrong reasons, but he had made the right decision. It definitely feels much better than the alternative.

“So,“ Gabriel interrupts his musings after a short while. “That was what didn’t happen. What did?“

The brothers exchange glances, but neither is particularly eager to speak up.

Gabriel sighs.

“Is this about Castiel?“ When he doesn’t get a reply, he rolls his eyes heavenward. “Look. I’m not smiting anyone. Whatever he did, he’s my little brother. More importantly, he’s on my side. Enemy of my enemy and all that. Besides, the guy hugged me the last time he saw me. Well, projection-me. Come on, I may be an asshole sometimes, but I don’t kick puppies.“

“Sometimes?“ Dean mouths in Sam’s direction. Gabriel pretends he hasn’t noticed.

“You literally can’t tell me anything worse than Metatron did. I hope. Wanna hear his version first?“

“Sure,“ Dean agrees readily enough.

“After the Apocalypse Castiel decided he’s better than everyone and led a rebellion against Raphael. Since he couldn’t win, he made a deal with the King of Hell and gobbled up all manners of souls from Purgatory. Then he slaughtered a few hundred angels including Raph, named himself the new God, started to randomly murder people, let the Leviathan out into the world and disappeared.“

Dean grinds his teeth. “I suppose that Metatron forgot to mention that Raphael wanted to restart the Apocalypse, didn’t he?“

Pain flicks through Gabriel’s expression, there and gone the next instant. Sam can imagine it’s not everyday that you learn one of your closest brothers tried to undo what you died for. But he leans forward as if it was nothing. “See? And this is why I need you. Come on. Make his case if that makes you feel better. Imagine I’ll change him into an actual puppy if you don’t. Just talk to me.“

Giving him a mild stink-eye, Dean does.

 

The overview is thankfully low on personal details. Dean doesn’t volunteer much and Gabriel doesn’t press, instead focusing on Cas and the bigger picture, drilling them for details they often don’t have. The long silence that follows is thoughtful and slightly sour. None of what the hunters have lived through is particularly pleasant, and their current situation keeps with the tradition.

“Those two, huh?“ Sam glances at Gabriel in the rearview mirror at the _non sequitur_. The Trickster is gazing out of the window, directly into the sun hanging low over the horizon, not bothering with blinking. The sunlight paints his eyes an inhuman shade of amber, clearer than a lion’s. He cuts a look to Sam, a spark of amusement in his expression betraying he’s well aware of the effect. Show off.

“Mike and Luci,“ he elaborates. “Are they really this cuddly ever since they came back?“

Sam rolls his shoulders and slouches a little more to find a more comfortable position in the seat. “I guess.“

“Hm.“

But it gets Sam thinking, so after another mile or so he ventures: “Is this more how they were… before?“

Gabriel’s howl of laughter is so sudden and loud that it makes him jerk and bang his knee against the dashboard. Dean nearly takes them to the opposite lane before he rights the car and glares at the archangel without any sort of effect. Possibly because Gabriel is doubled over in the backseat and seems to have trouble breathing enough to let the mirth out.

“What?! How-“ He has to pause and let out another burst of snickers, “how exactly do you imagine they were? Sitting on a cloud, plucking at a harp, smiling at each other all day long?“

Sam does his best not to look affronted. Going by the way Dean’s scowl has dissolved into a wide grin, unsuccessfully.

“Hells no. Mikey used to have such a massive stick up his ass that it came out of his mouth all the time, and Luci wouldn’t know moderation if it whacked him over the head with Thor’s hammer. You think they were bad during the Apocalypse? You’ve seen nothing! Sure, you rarely saw one without the other, but they were arguing half the time. And that was long before you folks came along and they really started to have something to argue about. Pfft.“

It helps to explain why are the two of them so careful not to disagree on anything now. It doesn’t even seem to be a mere attempt to present an united front. Maybe Gabriel is not the only one who couldn’t stand how it used to be, but couldn’t find a way how to make it better, either. It’s a strange thought, one that makes the former archangels seem somewhat more… human, although both would probably object to that term.

Sam frowns, not entirely happy with that line of thought.

It had been so simple during the Apocalypse, to consider them just impersonal forces of destruction, just another class of monsters; to disregard anything they had to say as a sort of mimicry, an attempt to affect personhood in order to get under their vessels’ skins. It had been definitely easier – safer – than to give a thought to the history behind the fight, or the tragedy of it. The last thing they could afford back then was sympathy.

It wasn’t until Lucifer broke the script face to face with Michael that Sam was forced to look at him as at a person, if only to use the offered weakness.

“How did you even get them both into the box?“ Gabriel’s question is eerily in accord to what is going on in Sam’s head, but his voice is light enough, eyes clever and curious.

Dean glances at his brother, apparently leaving it up to him to respond. It takes Sam several moments to be able to put the memories to words, and even then they make him shudder.

“I said yes. Eventually I managed to take back control long enough to jump. Michael tried to stop us but fell with us instead.“

Bringing Adam with them into the Pit. But he can’t think about that now. Or about the sensation of falling, of the Universe dissolving around him, of Lucifer bursting from his skin to unfurl to his full twisted glory; the pain-

“You overpowered an archangel from the inside.“

Sam flinches, just a little, and latches onto Gabriel’s voice to ground him before he even comprehends the question hidden in the slightly disbelieving tone. Then the words process and he hesitates. It’s not entirely true, but it’s close enough, and Lucifer himself seems to see it as purely Sam’s victory regardless. More importantly, Sam isn’t ready to share the whole story. It doesn’t feel like his to share; he wonders if Lucifer even told Michael. He definitely wouldn’t want to tell Gabriel, the brother for whom he didn’t stop.

Sam nods, and refuses to wonder why he cares about what Lucifer wants.

Gabriel lets out a low whistle.

“Wow. Remind me to never piss you off.“

“Bit too late for that,“ Dean comments. He seems somehow lighter, more relaxed than Sam has seen him since before the Mark was removed. Maybe Sam wasn’t the only one who needed to hear they did something right for once.

“Hey!” Gabriel protests with great dignity. ”That was in our past life. It doesn’t count.“

Dean smirks, because damn, if they can’t joke about dying, who can?

“Karma’s a bitch.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone has an idea how the Winchesters call Ms. Tran when they talk among themselves (except “Kevin’s mom“)? I only remember than when she and Sam were escaping from the storage and Kevin’s death came up, Sam addressed her as Ms. Tran, but that doesn’t mean he talks about her that way, or that Dean does, too. I really don’t have the time to rewatch everything to catch this detail. :(
> 
> Also, didn’t expect Lebanon, Kansas to actually exist, but it does. I wonder if anyone there watches Supernatural. :) Marysville is close – or what I suppose passes for ‘close’ in America. XD Come on, how could I resist including a town with such a name?  
> Another also, I honestly don’t remember if the guys ever considered possible side effects when they decided to close up Hell. ^^; In case it was somehow apparent there would be none, please consider it an AU feature?  
> Damn, I’m rambling again.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam isn’t sure what he expected from Gabriel once they ran out of anything useful to discuss. Probably that he’ll get bored and make the rest of the trip a living Hell for him and his brother. Instead, the guy is almost… unassuming.

Sure, he can still talk a mile a minute. At breakfast, he got into a heated debate with Dean about the best diners across the States, which quickly devolved into a gloriously absurd argument about the relative value of pies versus milkshakes.

By the time the contestants reached the solemnly negotiated compromise that ice cream is good, they were another hour closer to their destination and Sam was curled up in his seat, giggling like a four years old and too far gone to care.

It’s not even that the Trickster would give up his tricks, either, although he seems to be willing to tone them down At lunch, there was this asshole who made loud remarks about a Muslim family in the next booth. He ended up speaking with some sort of ridiculously hard, flat accent, something like German but not really, which made Dean light up and ask: “Dude, Zelenka?“ when he caught onto it. Of course both of them refused to explain the reference, but Gabriel gleefully informed them the guy will speak like that until at least three people tell him he should go back where he came from.

But most of the time, he’s quiet in the backseat, seemingly content to be left to his own devices. There is some rustling and crunching every few minutes – he requested a bag of chips when they first stopped for gas and it hasn’t run out since – but that’s it. A glance in the rearview mirror every once in a while reveals him watching the scenery roll by, sometimes lost in his own mind, sometimes a little more alert.

They’re almost in Marysville when Sam finally lets the silence calm him enough to return to his own thoughts.

Which, honestly, says a lot in itself. If he faced any other threat, he would be on it the moment Gabriel first fell quiet yesterday evening. He’d do his best to look at it from all angles, think about sources he needs to check, come up with backup plans, and the rest of the time he’d hype himself up for the expected fight to the point of barely being able to sleep.

Not this time. They’re taking two – three, actually – former enemies to their base, their home as much as they have any, and Sam can’t be bothered to even try to plan for the fallout. Whatever thoughts he gave the issue, they were circling around Metatron, not the archangels, and they were cut short; there’s nothing new he can come up with, so all he can do is hope that their new allies will be good for something on that front.

He should be more nervous. But, ironically enough, the only wildcard he can see in this scenario is Gabriel. Gabriel who spent hundreds if not thousands of years in the role of chaos incarnate; Gabriel whose idea of help is such that it would be possibly safer and definitely less painful if he was an enemy; Gabriel who just a couple of months ago happily led Cas into a trap, presumably to save his own skin.

He’s not sure if it says something about him, his messed up life or the angels in question that between the guy who allegedly died for humanity and the guy who tried to destroy it, he has easier time trusting the latter.

It’s not as simple as that the Devil doesn’t lie. People change; despite Lucifer’s surprise at the idea, angels do, too. Sam wouldn’t put it past him to change his mind when honesty didn’t work the first time around.

But he trusts Lucifer’s pride.

Lucifer doesn’t need him anymore; his current vessel holds him perfectly well. Beyond curiosity, he didn’t have a reason to seek him out except to continue where he left off when Sam was taken from him, and if that was the case, he’d start already. He’s not the type to play around, and even if he was, he wouldn’t begin the game by showing respect. He is still the Devil. Not being able to show respect where he didn’t believe it warranted is what got him into trouble in the first place, and it’s the one characteristic Sam doesn’t expect him to lose.

Which… really means Lucifer considers him worthy of respect. Huh. It means he’s probably honest in the rest of the emotions he’s shown so far, too, and Sam isn’t sure whether he’s ready for that. He thought he knows his enemy inside out, the ice-cold fury of him and the few weak spots, but the more he watches him now, the less of the coldness he sees, and the supposed weak spots bloomed into an array of feelings and attitudes and relationships that don’t always make him more approachable or understandable, but they definitely make him seem more immediate, less alien. They make him into someone you can get to know.

Into someone you might want to know.

Sam frowns. He’s pretty sure what would be Dean’s opinion on that line of thought, and he can’t say he would blame him. It is insane. He would know, he saw the worst of Lucifer himself. He watched him cover a mass grave and raise a Horseman. He invited him in, experienced firsthand how inhuman he really is, the enormity and cold glory and razor-sharp edges of him. He fought him within his own skin, was pushed down and silenced and fought his way up only to be pushed down again like drowning in a storm at sea. Watched him lose his temper, murder his friends, beat Dean nearly to death. Witnessed the absolute fury of him as he tore into Michael in the Cage. Suffered torture from him for years, maybe decades, nearly died just from the memories of that. He’s the last person on Earth who should want to be anywhere near Lucifer, because he is the one person who knows exactly what it means to have the Devil interested in you.

But maybe it means that he’s the only person on Earth who can look at him now and see where the monster gave way to something else. Something new, if he wants to believe Gabriel. He can look at Lucifer as he is with Michael now, careful and protective, and feel the world right itself bit by bit.

He’s not a boy anymore. He doesn’t believe in fairytales. That the two former archangels had the ability to destroy the Earth between them doesn’t mean they can somehow heal it of evil now that they are brothers again, although it’s a nice idea. But somehow, seeing them like this is healing _Sam_. Somehow it makes the memories more distant, easier to bear. Somehow the memory of the angels side by side, protecting their former vessels, seems more right, more true, than any of the memories from the aborted Apocalypse.

More like something that was always meant to be.

Or maybe he’s lying to himself again. It’s a shared trait between him and Lucifer, and it always gets them in trouble.

Either way, when they make it to the edge of Marysville and spot the two angels walking along the road like a pair of hitchhikers, something in him settles.

o.O.o

They don’t all pile into the Impala.

It’s a near thing, though. Lucifer complains that Gabriel got to ride (as if he couldn’t be everywhere he wants within a blink of an eye). Sam’s not sure whether the subtle wheedling is intended to get a reaction from Dean or from Gabriel, but it gets both: Dean pretty much stomps and declares his Baby off limits while Gabriel makes a show of stretching over the entire backseat by himself. He makes the fatal mistake of putting a boot on the leather seat, however, so he ends up kicked out.

In the end, the angels have to follow the car on their own. Neither of the three looks particularly happy about it, but they don’t argue too much.

It’s not a long ride from there, just a couple of hours, literally. Dean parks the Impala at a respectable distance from the Bunker and waits for their three allies to blink into existence before taking them for a hike through the surrounding forest. The hunters both know that the chance the angels won’t notice the huge concrete structure right next to the site of the pyre is pretty much nonexistent, but Dean is determined to take it regardless.

It’s true that the walls of the Bunker aren’t visible from the angle from which Dean choses to approach. If Sam’s not mistaken, they’re above its deepest end, far enough up the hill that there is a thick layer of dirt and rock above its uppermost level.

There’s not much left of the pyre. The place is not overgrown yet, the fire having been too intense, burning too long for that (and the lighter fluid Dean undoubtedly used couldn’t help matters, either). But there are barely any charred remnants of the logs strewn about the blackened ground. Definitely nothing that would be recognizable as Kevin’s remains.

Gabriel stares at the place, expression inscrutable, and Sam’s heart sinks.

Then the archangel sighs, conjures a glass jar and gets on his hands and knees on the burned out ground, muttering something so quietly that it could be just as well a string of curses as an incantation. His palm skims the ashes, methodically like a metal detector, and every once in a while he pauses, picks up something that is hopefully a fragment of bone and puts it into the jar.

Lucifer looks on in vague interest, but Michael frowns.

“Is this pagan magic?“

His voice is neutral enough, as if the disapproval there was mostly a formality, and Gabriel barely falters.

“A mix, actually. I’ve developed quite a few of these while you weren’t looking. It comes in handy.“

Michael is silent for a few heartbeats.

“When you’re hiding from the Host, yes, I can imagine.“ And now his tone is properly neutral; Sam has no idea what to read in it beyond the observation, except Lucifer now shows Michael the same interest with which he previously watched his younger brother. Gabriel stops completely, hands motionless, still kneeling on the blackened ground and staring at the ashes.

“Yeah. I ran. I hid. I tangled in pagan magic. I’m the deserter, the unworthy son. I stood against you both for – how did you put it, Luci? – a pile of cockroaches. And you know what?“ He looks up at Michael, face contorted in fury, eyes blazing, but his voice is light, too light, and the bone shards rattle around the jar in his hand. “I’m _not sorry_. I found a new family. It didn’t give a rat’s ass about me either, so I felt right at home, and at least they weren’t so surprised whenever I had an opinion. I did something worthwhile with my time, I did it on my own terms and in the end I helped to stop your stupid pissing match! So don’t look all judgmental at me now. We aren’t any better than the pagans – or humans. We just have bigger guns. So if I have to be on their side to level the playing field a bit, I will be. Always. Clear?“

Michael measures him thoughtfully, unmoved by the outburst.

“You are the only remaining archangel now.“

Gabriel flinches, then sneers. “Too bad, because I’m also the only archangel who doesn’t get off on playing Mussolini. Which is your only luck, because I bet you wouldn’t like it if I started to boss you two around.“

Michael continues to gaze at him as if his brother was a puzzle, one he needs to approach the right way to have any hopes of solving it.

After a while of this Gabriel turns back to the ashes, resuming the chanting, slightly louder now. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t sound like Enochian, but Sam’s pretty sure it’s not Old Norse either. Sanskrit?

There’s a moment somewhere near the middle when Michael makes up his mind and opens his mouth, but Lucifer touches his sleeve and subtly shakes his head. Curiously enough, Michael lets it go, at least for the time being.

Finally Gabriel finishes scouring the ground, getting up and brushing his knees (which miraculously clean up, as does his palm). The jar in his hand isn’t even full. The largest fragment isn’t any longer than a finger.

“So what’s the verdict, doc?“ Dean asks, masking his nervousness.

“He’s dead, Jim,“ Gabriel responds immediately in his best mournful voice, then shrugs and shakes the jar. “Don’t blame me if he comes back part tree, but it’s worth a shot. Just barely, but… yeah, still probably our best chance.“

Dean nods. Gabriel’s lips twitch upwards.

“Sooo,“ he drawls with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “when are we moving this party down below?“

By which he successfully confuses everyone present. He grins outright and taps his foot. “The Men of Letters’ Bunker,“ he elaborates. “Somewhere down there. Sorry, Dean-o, it was a nice trip, but random patch of a forest usually doesn’t have this much warding.“

So much for that chance, but it still doesn’t explain everything.

“How do you know what it is?“ Sam asks.

“Ah, you know how it goes. One starts taking interest in secret societies that keep sending hunters after him. Good guys, but terribly low on sense of humor. I was just getting around to sneaking in here to give them something better to do when they vanished into thin air sometime in the fifties. Any idea what happened?“

Dean grimaces. “Abaddon.“

“Damn. Tough luck. Hope you cleaned out all the bodies.“

Sam makes a face at him. “It didn’t happen here.“

“Even better. So. Shall we?“ He waggles his eyebrows at them for good measure.

Dean fixes him with a glare, then looks up to include the remaining two angels.

“If I catch you snooping anywhere…“

“You’ll be terribly disappointed with us and go all big scary Winchester on our asses. Gotcha.“

Dean capitulates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Who knows Zelenka? :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention lately how amazing you all are? When I started this story, I really didn’t expect to get to a place where I’m getting several comments for every chapter, and that’s not even mentioning other kinds of feedback, all of them very much appreciated. You keep me both very happy and craving more, because feedback really is a drug: there’s no such thing as ‘enough’. I’m literally unable to stop writing, there’s always the next chapter I need to finish to get another fix. :D  
> And then there are the less fun periods, the ones when I’m tired and don’t have time for anything and feel like my writing is crap. I pull through those thanks to you and for you, folks, because there’s always someone happy about the new chapter, someone who makes me remember that my story doesn’t have to be perfect to be worth reading.  
> Thank you.
> 
> WARNING for some ‘roaches. If bugs bug you, don’t eat while reading this chapter.  
> If they seriously bug you, just let me know and I’ll make sure you can avoid the mention. On that topic, please don’t hesitate to let me know if you think some chapter deserves a trigger warning – I don’t care if it’s something common or specific for you. Also, as long as I’m active on this site, I’ll be willing to put up any chapter without chosen triggers upon request (probably into some side series, the original would remain here).

Having the angels in the bunker is surprisingly low on excitement. Lucifer and Michael make a trip for the right kind of clay and hole themselves up in a mostly empty study Dean assigned to them, working on the Tablet. Gabriel makes himself at home in one of the many spare bedrooms and starts to explore, claiming he first needs to examine the protections currently in place before he can even think about adding his own to them. Sam and Dean take turns accompanying him, although it’s mostly to make them feel better about the intrusion and keep the Trickster out of the archives and storerooms. Everybody knows they couldn’t really do much if Gabriel decided to stop playing nice.

Gabriel merely rolls his eyes, promises he won’t do anything without telling them first, and uses the opportunity to chat, even though there are moments when Sam could swear he’s as weirded out about having company as Sam is about having him there.

The archangel keeps his word for all of fourteen hours, after which he makes a detour into another abandoned study and snaps up a whole entertainment system, complete with surround sound, a wall-mounted flatscreen TV larger than some of the motel beds Sam has had the misfortune of sleeping in and enough DVDs to last them a year. He flops down on the new couch, boots and all, and stares up at the ceiling for several long seconds.

“Nope. You’d need an archaeologist for those wards, not a Trickster. There are so many layers of protection that I’m half convinced you could find a dinosaur at the bottom of them. Lucky for us that most of them are inactive. Full lockdown mode, not only would you need to be perfectly human to be able to move around, I think you’d need to be a proper Men of Letters initiate, too. Not gonna mess with that, sorry. And now for the good news.“ He gives a lopsided smile. “I know why I never got around to taking a peek here, playing a prank or two as I wanted. It’s part of the wards that are still working. As long as you have something else to do, the bunker and whoever is in it will never seem important enough to do something about them. I’m pretty sure this one will work on Metatron, too, hold him off for a while. Not too long, we’re too much of a pain in the ass to be entirely safe, but seriously, they stalled me for decades and I never suspected. These guys were _good_.“

He looks genuinely delighted about having been played. Maybe he is, and not only because it’s in his best interest right now.

“Bonus points, we can be fairly sure Metadick won’t even notice us bringing your Prophet back, as long as he doesn’t leave the bunker afterwards.“

“So he’ll be on house arrest until this blows over.“

Gabriel shrugs. “Beats being dead. Now, until our dear Tablet team does their work, I have several years’ worth of shows to marathon. You’re welcome to join me and my hilarious running commentary.“

Sam gives him a long look. “You promise to stay put?“

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Yes, I promise to stay away from the archives and storages and all those little nooks and crannies you don’t want me to snoop in. If I find any secret stuff in the kitchen, I’ll let you know. Good enough?“

Sam resists the urge to point out he just broke his previous promise. Letter and spirit of the law and all that. Also, he’s not above looking forward to using the brand new entertainment room once circumstances allow.

He nods minutely.

“Alright.“

 

Which is how, when Cas arrives later that afternoon, the hunters have the time to greet him and give him a better overview of the situation than they could squeeze into a few phonecalls before Gabriel wanders into the kitchen, stopping at a respectable distance from the three of them and smirking at the younger angel.

“Hey bro. Happy to see me again?“

Cas turns to him.

“Gabriel.“

Gabriel’s already weak grin twitches under his sibling’s laser-like focus, but he spreads his arms.

“In the flesh. No poking this time, please. Sorry for that terrible performance, by the way. I know, Metatron shouldn’t write fanfiction. He had me awfully out of character.“

Castiel doesn’t look convinced. In fact, he looks like he is tempted to test whether Gabriel is corporeal anyway.

“How do we know this isn’t another trap?“

Gabriel quirks a sceptical eyebrow at him.

“One, I could ask you the same. Two, it’s too elaborate even for Metatron’s sense of drama. Three, Metatron is a pathetic loser who couldn’t put together a decent story if Shakespeare held his hand and he’d never let me say that ‘cause he can’t handle honest criticism.“ He pauses, rams his hands into his jacket’s pockets and shrugs. “Four, you don’t. We’re all kinda taking it on faith here because if anyone here is a puppet, we’re screwed anyway.“

“We don’t need to take it on faith, actually,“ Sam points out reluctantly. “There’s a way to test angels any time we need.“

Gabriel makes a face at him. “I’d really like to avoid being repeatedly poked with sharp objects. I doubt you have an archangel’s sword lying around, but these things still _hurt_.“

“Not with a sword. With a prayer.“

“Ah.” Gabriel considers it for a moment, then he lights up. “Yeah, that should work, as long as it’s specific. And it will test you two, too, because you can’t fake the voice of the caller, either. I’m guessing little bro here will recognize you.“

Cas nods solemnly. “Of course.“

Dean glances from him to the others. “Good. But I’m not praying to Satan or that other douchebag.“

“I can do that,“ Sam says, keeping his voice carefully neutral. Dean gives him a startled look.

“Sam-“

“It’s not a big deal, Dean. I can handle it.“

Dean hesitates, but then relents. It’s only when they change the topic – courtesy of Gabriel, who jumps on the opportunity to drill Cas for details on their siblings – that Sam dares to relax, happy he didn’t have to reveal more.

Can’t hurt to test Lucifer once more, right?

 

Two hours later, the remaining angels find them still in the kitchen, except that the conversation moved from politics to food. Literally: in between cheerfully stuffing his mouth, Gabriel is teaching Cas how to taste food and Cas is trying to decribe the difference between using his method and being human, giving the topic at least the same level of serious consideration as the previous one.

The silence that falls when they notice the older two is short but blatantly uncomfortable. It’s Gabriel who decides to break it so quick.

“Hey. Anything new?“

“We found a match,“ Michael announces. “We do remember some of the same passages. I believe it’s time to talk to the Prophet’s soul.“ He very carefully nods towards the youngest angel. “Castiel.“

“Michael. Lucifer.“

Lucifer gives a shadow of a smirk. “Castiel. Still a rebel, I’ve heard.“

“Never against God.“

Lucifer’s smile turns wry. “You couldn’t know that last time we talked.“

“Could we _please_ move past the kindergarten level argument of who loves Daddy best?“ Gabriel interrupts. “We have a way to test if all of us are real. Sort of. It’s more like if all of us are real somewhere and able to act for ourselves here, but hey, better than nothing. Wanna try?“

o.O.o

Sam wakes up the following morning to air heavy with tension. It’s as if with the addition of Castiel everybody else suddenly remembered their makeshift alliance is anything but natural. Especially the angels resemble a bunch of wolves from different packs who suddenly found themselves in the same territory and have no idea whether to snarl at each other or make friends.

On second thought, he and Dean probably aren’t any better. Only Gabriel valiantly bullshits his way through the entire morning, but just like everyone else, he’s in the whole mess too deep to pretend everything’s alright. There’s simply too much history between them all. He breaks at lunch, rather spectacularly: He changes all the food on their plates into cockroaches, showers his onlooking older brothers with his portion and storms out of the kitchen, leaving behind two indignant former archangels, two cursing hunters and Castiel, who is plaintively watching his meal scurry off the table.

Sam picks himself and his overturned chair off the ground and for once wholeheartedly agrees with Dean who is swearing to kill the Trickster in creative ways, even though the mouthful he spat out thankfully remained pasta.

After that disaster, Lucifer and Michael vanish who knows where. The atmosphere remains charged. Gabriel’s outburst felt like one of the first thunders heralding a storm in the making; it didn’t clear the air any.

It comes as a surprise, then, that Gabriel wants to see them all again late in the evening. They reconvene in the new entertainment room, the archangel looking somewhat composed again. Before Dean can threaten him into dealing with their unwelcome new tenants, he captures everyone’s attention by tossing and catching what looks like a handful of separate keys.

“So. I’ve been thinking. The protection spells will hold off our little Meta-problem for a while, but not forever. Let me present to you our plan B for case of an attack.“ He strides over to Sam and pushes a key into his palm, holding it there for a few seconds. It looks innocuous, just a cheap apartment key, but it’s warm as if it previously soaked up Gabriel’s body heat. “Keys to one of my hidey holes, folks. Use only in case of an emergency.“ He moves to Dean, who eyes him with suspicion but obediently holds out his hand. “Ram it into any keyhole and it will open a passage as big as the door you use. The first person who sends me a stinking fish through a drawer will get chased by a man-eating toilet bowl.“ Next in line is Castiel. “These will only work for you – anyone can open a way, but only those who got a key from me will be able to pass. It should hold even Metatron long enough to hightail it out of wherever you are before he breaks in.“ Gabriel doesn’t even hesitate before he moves over to Michael, but his voice loses some more of its forced lightness. “You two will have probably a better chance flying away, but just in case.“ Lucifer gets the key slammed into his palm with a bit more force than necessary. “You may meet a small, mostly white dog there. Hurt him and I’ll hurt you.“

Sam blinks.

“You have a dog?“

Gabriel shrugs, even finds it in him to grin a little. “I think the dog has me. Started showing up sometime at the end of the nineteenth century. I’m still not sure what he is. Anyway. If you have to use the place, don’t break anything in there and stay away from my porn collection. Also, if you have to leave before I get there, it will spit you out in a random safe location – hold hands if you want to end up in the same place. Questions?“

For a moment it seems there won’t be any, but then Cas offers his key back with a weight of regret.

“Thank you, brother, but I’m an undue risk. Once I leave here, I could be taken by Metatron and you wouldn’t know about it until the safehouse is compromised. If you believe your precautions will only stall him, not stop him, you can’t afford that.“

Gabriel rolls his eyes, but his expression softens.

“All accounted for,“ he promises easily. “I took inspiration from the wards here. Nobody will think twice about that key until they see it used. Keep it.“

Cas hesitates, but eventually he pockets the key.

“And now for our brand new roach problem,“ Dean starts as expected, but somehow, his mock-threatening glare in the Trickster’s direction isn’t as fierce as it undoubtedly would have been just a moment earlier.

o.O.o

Their alliance is more than just an ‘enemy of my enemy’ sort of thing, but that’s the tricky part: on one hand, if it was, they could at least be sure it’s going to last until Metatron is defeated, on the other hand, there’s potential they will remain allies even after they beat him. (If they beat him, but that bit Sam refuses to think about.) After all, Gabriel chose their side once already, Lucifer seems determined to help Sam (even if it’s on a whim that could pass at any moment) and Cas is the perfect proof that nothing is set in stone, having spent the past few years swinging between being their ally, friend and enemy, only to become so entangled with them that Sam doesn’t want to imagine their tiny family without him.

He especially doesn’t want to imagine Dean without him. It’s blatantly obvious that Castiel grounds his brother in a way nobody else ever could; ever since Kevin’s death, their calls were about the only opportunity to see Dean come close to a genuine smile. Having him actually here, if only for a few days, is already doing the elder Winchester a world of good.

That, in turn, is good for everyone. Dean has a way of dragging people to his orbit, some sort of gravitational pull Sam never really understood but witnessed too many times to doubt. Sometime between Gabriel’s unexpected gesture and the following morning Dean seems to have decided to give the new bunker’s inhabitants an actual chance and ease up on the paranoid routine, and it may have just as much in common with them all being a little bit safer now as with Cas being surprisingly nowhere to be found after Dean retired for the night.

It’s not going to be enough. There’s so much history there between all of them, so many accusations, regrets and unresolved questions, it makes near everyone unpredictable towards the others.

But perhaps it’s an opportunity as well; to get some answers if nothing else.

“Michael. Can I talk to you for a minute?“

He didn’t expect to catch Michael alone so soon. Maybe that’s why he nearly missed the chance when they passed each other in a corridor.

The angel stops and turns to give him his full attention. “Yes.“

There’s tension in him Sam can’t help but read as wariness, but whether that’s true or only the result of Michael using his vessel like a puppet on a string rather than means to express himself with, he has no idea.

“I wanted to ask…“ Sam trails off, glancing away. There’s no good way to ask for the confirmation of the fears that haunted him on and off for years – and somehow never haunted him enough. He braces himself, forces himself to look at the body of his near-unknown younger brother even though he can’t quite meet the eyes of the entity inhabiting it now. “Adam’s soul. Was it destroyed in the Cage?“

A trace of momentary confusion makes it into Michael’s normally inscrutable face.

“Of course not. Adam’s soul never entered the Cage.“

Sam startles in surprise. “What?“

Michael studies him for a moment, then his expression smooths out in understanding.

“It was his condition to our agreement. He will give me use of the vessel if he and his mother remain in Heaven, never to be disturbed again. I did as he asked.“

“He’s in Heaven.“

Distantly, Sam’s aware he’s parroting like an idiot, but there’s relief swelling within him that makes it hard to care.

“Yes.“

“Good. That’s… really good.“

He’s about to thank the angel and get on his way, when Michael speaks again, sounding careful.

“You’re aware that with Metatron in charge, I cannot guarantee you brother’s soul is still at rest. You need to be prepared for your family and friends to become hostages at any point.“ He pauses, hesitates, then presses on. “I wish I could tell you they are safe. It’s imperative that the souls of the deserving be left undisturbed. It is not a rule easily broken by any angel, but Metatron already proved he is willing to go much further in his bid to remodel Heaven.“

There’s something off about that proclamation, another message beyond the unwelcome reminder of the risks. It takes Sam a moment to realize what it is, and now he does look the angel in the eyes.

“Are you telling me you broke the rules when you involved Adam?“

It probably shouldn’t surprise him that Michael refuses to drop his gaze.

“Yes. I didn’t see any other option. It was going against Father’s instructions for everyday care of Heaven or failing to fulfill His greatest plan.“

Sam’s mouth twists in distaste. “The end justifies the means.“

Michael frowns as if Sam just presented to him a philosophical problem that never occured to him before.

“I’m not so sure. Yes, it makes sense, especially in war, but lately I’m starting to think that if the end can’t be achieved by honorable means, maybe it’s wrong to strive for it.“

Sam blinks at him.

“Good. Because that was irony.“

“Ah.“ They watch each other in silence for a good while.

“Anything else you wanted to ask?“

“No. Thanks. That was… enough.“

Michael nods, turns and walks away as if the conversation never happened, leaving Sam to stare after him.

Sometimes, Lucifer seems less foreign.

o.O.o

“Castiel doesn’t want to lead the Host.“

Lucifer pauses at the unexpected sound of a voice, then turns to Michael, who is staring at the unfinished Tablet as if it was something more than a result of blind copying and guesswork. They didn’t lie when they said they found a match in their memories, but that doesn’t make their work easy.

“Isn’t that a good thing? I thought you don’t like him.“

Michael gives him a faintly confused, faintly reproachful look as if he couldn’t believe his brother would respond with such oversimplification to him of all people. Lucifer carefully hides his smile.

“There is no one to lead the Host,“ Michael elaborates. “Gabriel refuses, Castiel as well. Other faction leaders are insignificant or dead except Metatron, who is too unpredictable to be allowed to rule.“

“He is also the enemy,“ Lucifer points out mildly.

“Yes, the only confirmed enemy. The fact remains, if we defeat him, the Host will be even worse off than with him in charge. Angels aren’t built to live in anarchy.“

Lucifer shrugs. “Not your concern, unless you want to return to your place after all.“

“You know I can’t.“

“I know you believe you can’t. We aren’t sure.”

He expects to be cut off curtly, but instead Michael glances back at the Tablet. The echo of the Word of God. Of course.

“I’ve lost the right, Lucifer. I’ve made too many mistakes.“

Lucifer freezes. The closest either of them got to that admission during all the ages in the Cage was ‘I have regrets‘, initiated by him and shared with reluctance and then relief by Michael; he didn’t expect to ever hear his brother go so far.

“And I can’t put any of them right.“ Michael’s helpless bitterness is strong enough to be reflected in his vessel’s face, as if the intensity of his stare boring into Lucifer for _something_ , understanding perhaps, didn’t show it clearly enough. “I may have ruled on stolen authority but I took care of Heaven the best I could, and I’m not allowed even that now. So what am I? What are we? We are out of the Cage by Father’s mercy, but we don’t have any place in Creation anymore. We played out our roles, outlived our destiny, turned out a disappointment. We risk being cast back down just by helping. Yes, we do,“ he interrupts firmly when he sees Lucifer open his mouth, and then adds more gently: “I’m not backing out. I can’t, not without a clear order. To stand aside and just watch is nearly as bad as being locked up. I know you share the sentiment. Maybe I’m not grateful enough and maybe I don’t deserve even that small mercy, but I need to know I did what I could, even if I should go back into the Cage for it. I can’t turn my back on Heaven completely.“

“Which,“ Lucifer can’t help but point out, thrown too far off balance by his brother’s outburst, “makes you already better than our Father.“

“Don’t blaspheme, brother,” Michael admonishes, but he sounds more tired than stern. “Don’t make this even worse.“

Lucifer inclines his head briefly.

Michael still looks disquieted, the copied Tablet clutched in his hand. It should be easier to bear now that they’re each separate in his own vessel, so that one’s upset doesn’t resonate directly in the other’s Grace. It isn’t.

Lucifer sighs. “Michael, I know you didn’t miss the fact that we are two of the four angels in all Creation with their wings intact, or that Father could have made us a much lower class than Seraphim. We don’t have just enough to protect ourselves, we have enough to fight. Why do you think that is?“

Michael stays silent. Lucifer knows it’s more of a refusal to share his theories, which he must have, than an ‘I don’t know’. He tries another angle:

“If Father told you to do anything you want, anything at all, what would you do?“

“I’d reclaim my place in Heaven.“

The reply is immediate, instinctive, and that makes it all the more tragic. Infuriating, except it’s not Michael Lucifer is angry with. He bites his lip to keep from pushing, because that would only make his brother push back. But damn if he doesn’t want to.

“I’d ask you to come with me,” Michael adds after a moment, softer.

Lucifer winces.

“I don’t belong in Heaven anymore.“

“You don’t belong in Hell, either,“ Michael retorts firmly. It makes Lucifer smile.

“No,“ he admits. “I never really liked Hell. But I’m quite happy here. I did always love this part of Creation, even though it now comes with a bit of a pest problem.“

They lapse into silence again, both occupied with their own thoughts.

“If you could do anything,“ Michael says slowly, “would you still move to destroy humanity?“

Strangely enough, there’s no ready reply to that.

“Eventually,“ Lucifer concludes after giving it some thought. His lips curl up. “I’d explore first. I guess I’d find out how long I can tolerate them.“

“Then you’d do what Father wants you to,“ Michael points out, the irony weighing on him like lead.

“Only at first. And only if there wasn’t something more interesting to do. You know me, brother.“

It’s the truth, and it has the advantage of serving Lucifer’s purposes.

Somewhere down the road it became more comfortable to be two misfits together than to press an advantage, and somewhere down the same road Lucifer became glad for the change.

But Michael is right, this is not the scale of action they are used to, and he has to bite back what he’d say if they had that sort of freedom.

_Soar, brother. Rise to rule Heaven once more._

_And leave the Earth to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: The next chapter might be even longer and therefore take even longer. (Sorry for the delay on this chapter, by the way - it’s been really tough to find any proper free time to write since at least the beginning of March. This time I lost the battle.) In the meantime, if you don’t know lysanatt and all_the_kings_ham yet, definitely pay them a visit, because they are both amazing Samifer authors and deserve all the love you can give them.  
> Also, have you noticed this little gem of a canon-divergent Samifer story?  
> [In saecula saeculorum](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3600894) by wild-abyss (twicefivemiles).  
> It’s a part of a series which is also worth checking out, but it can be read on its own and it’s absolutely breathtaking.  
> Till next time!


	14. Chapter 14

_“Lucifer.“_

Lucifer hums his acknowledgement and smiles, secretly reveling in the warmth of the established connection. Sam seems unaware of it, and once more Lucifer pushes the thought that maybe he should tell him to the back of his mind. It’s not as if Sam couldn’t have asked him or any other angel before he went and assumed that a prayer is about as personal as a one-way phonecall.

Unlike his brother, the younger hunter took to testing the angels occasionally, even though Lucifer soon realized he’s the only one Sam reaches out to almost every time he sees him. He’d feel mistrusted, but there isn’t any suspicion within the prayer. Instead, Sam settles at their little exchange, satisfaction and a sense of safety seeping through the open channel until the connection fizzles out shortly after.

Come to think of it, it’s been some time since Sam last reacted to the sight of him with pressing his thumb into the scar on his palm, or even an aborted version of the gesture. Lucifer can only guess that the two habits fulfill a similar purpose.

He definitely prefers this one.

Sam continues to fix himself a sandwich, glancing his way every now and then. New habits aside, it seems he doesn’t yet feel safe enough around Lucifer to turn his back for long – but not unsafe enough to refuse to turn his back at all, either.

Pushing the very tentative rapport they have developing here might be unwise, then, but Lucifer isn’t in a very wise mood.

“There’s a little something that’s been nagging me for a few days by now,“ he opens innocuously and gets another glance out the corner of the hunter’s eye. “Perhaps you could help me?“

Sam covers the small pile of tomatoes, eggs and lettuce with the top bread, grabs the plate with the sandwich and turns to lean against the counter, facing the angel.

“Depends on what it is.“

“You seemed to have history with Gadreel.“

Not even blind he’d miss the way Sam freezes at that. He lets the silence stretch for a while, but when it gets too long, he gently coaxes: “Will you tell me?“

“No. It’s none of your business.“

The words are cold and firm, but the hunter’s hands are shaking, the tiniest tremor only visible thanks to the plate vibrating with it.

“It is if it’s one of the things that made you so exhausted when I first visited you.“

“I said it’s none of your business,“ Sam bits out, angry now, and as delighful as it is to be physically close, right now it would be nice to have the extra insight the dreamscape gives him. He could still get a read on his former vessel, of course, but he suspects that wouldn’t be appreciated.

There are so many tempting ways to keep pushing, and maybe that would be a good thing, to keep provoking those beautifully alive reactions to prevent the void in Sam’s mind from taking hold. But Lucifer is, deep down, a selfish creature. He doesn’t want to lose those pleasant little exchanges he just began to get out of the hunter.

He inclines his head, keeping Sam’s gaze.

“Alright, Sam.“

He’s about to wander out of the kitchen – nothing to achieve here anymore, not today at least – when Sam’s voice stops him.

“One more thing.“

He turns back, lifting a questioning brow.

“Don’t ever call me your vessel again.“

He studies the man for a moment, but there’s only so much he will give him without a fight, and a lie isn’t one of those things.

“But you are,“ he says simply. “I’m not going to take you again, but you are still my one True Vessel.“

“I don’t care. I’m not your toy. I’m not something you can get into a pissing match over. I can stand my own ground.“

Oh. This is what it is about.

“So I’m not allowed to take your side?“

Sam huffs. “You are not allowed to get jealous. I don’t belong to you, in any way. I’m my own man.“

“That you are,“ Lucifer admits easily. He doesn’t need the extra insight to remember that the struggle to have his own agency, to be seen as an individual with his own worth and will, is one of the faultlines running through Sam’s soul. It seems to only have deepened since the Cage.

Sam releases a long breath, letting most of the tension out with it. Lucifer studies him, wondering if he should try to explain what made him act the way he did, maybe coax something more about Gadreel out of the hunter in the meantime, but Sam seems satisfied with the confirmation and Lucifer finds himself unwilling to ruin it.

“Look. I know it’s true, biologically, or spiritually, or what exactly it is that makes someone a vessel,“ Sam says, calmer now. “But a vessel is a thing, nothing more than a convenient body, and if we’re going to work together, I really don’t want to know if that is what you see me as.“

And Lucifer is stuck watching him as it dawns on him what a profound misunderstanding they have here.

“Do you really think that is all a vessel is to an angel?“ he asks finally.

Sam doesn’t respond, but he lifts his chin in challenge.

“Sam, why do you think an angel needs consent to enter a vessel?”

The hunter sneers. “Because you’re supposed to be somewhat better than demons?“

“You wound me,“ Lucifer replies without heat, the sting of the remark overruled by amusement at Sam’s defiance. He tries from another angle: “Why do you think it is that you’re my vessel but Dean is Michael’s, even though you both come from both bloodlines?“

“Because Heaven likes symbolism?“ The tone suggests that a ‘don’t know, don’t care’ should follow, but it doesn’t come. Lucifer is pretty sure there’s a spark of unwilling curiosity in there somewhere.

“Can you explain that?“

Sam’s expression turns cold.

“Don’t play games with me.“

Hm. So the hunter isn’t in the mood to think for himself. It occurs to Lucifer then that before he breached the topic, he should have taken into account a human’s very limited ability to understand the concepts involved – and Sam’s pride. He casts about for a simplification that wouldn’t be completely ludicrous, and comes up with:

“There’s a resonance between an angel and a vessel, on several levels including personality and experience. You get the resonance wrong, the vessel explodes, even if it was otherwise able to withstand the power level of the angel. You get good resonance, the vessel will hold for a while even if its integrity isn’t quite there.“

“Like Nick.“

“Like Nick,“ he nods. “Consent is supposed to be about recognition of that similarity from the vessel’s side.“ He grimaces, shrugs a little. “Or at least that is the nicest interpretation.“

Sam, of course, can’t let that pass.

“What is the less nice one?“

Lucifer’s eyes flash. “That it’s to teach us humility. An angel comes to a man, he must ask.“

Sam’s slight smile startles him. “I can see why you would prefer the first one.“

He forgets to blink as he stares at the hunter. Was that… teasing? Is that a thing that happens now?

Apparently he spends too much time trying to decide whether he likes it or not, because Sam’s smile grows briefly brighter before he schools his expression, eyes twinkling.

“You were explaining the relationship between a vessel and an angel.“

He doesn’t bother to hide his interest anymore, the perpetual fatigue lifted from his features, and Lucifer decides right then that a little bit of dignity isn’t such a great price to pay for that.

Which doesn’t mean he’s above turning the table.

“I wasn’t. I was trying to find the closest parable for your sake. You’re special, Sam, but not as special as you would need to be to understand the basic concepts behind this.“

Sam’s eyes narrow fractionally. For a moment it’s unclear whether he’s offended or not, but then he relaxes against the counter and gestures with the plate. The untouched sandwich wobbles but holds shape.

“Go on, then.“

The air of challenge is very faint, but that’s the one thing about Sam Lucifer would never fail to recognize. Well, Sam will get what he asked for. Maybe more. He moves, a lazy saunter to get him closer.

“You could say a good vessel is at least a partial mirror of the angel. You, as my True Vessel, were supposed to be perfect for me. You were supposed to understand like nobody before you and join my side willingly.“

Oh, and there it is, the tension at the edge of his senses that tells him this is his one True Vessel, his counterpart body and soul; this is what makes being in Sam’s actual physical presence so thrilling.

He watches Sam take a breath and clutch the plate tighter, hold it like a barrier between them even if he’s nowhere close enough to breach it, and he can’t help but wonder if the man can feel the same pull, or if it’s just their shared history speeding his heartbeat.

It takes Sam barely a few seconds to gather himself, to inhale through his nose and raise his head in defiance.

“I wasn’t, though.“

“No, you weren’t.“ And how that had seemed like another grave injustice against him, at least until it turned out Dean is even more stubborn than his brother. “Have you ever asked yourself why? Why were the parallels incomplete, why your brother never banished you, why you fought so hard to save each other? Why was the fight between me and Michael even supposed to happen on Earth and inside vessels for that matter?“

Sam is silent again, his full attention on Lucifer, and that is all the encouragement he needs.

“The resonance goes both ways, Sam. A vessel influences the angel. Gestures, expressions, speech patterns, all those little things that allow us to pass for human when we need to, that’s where the vessel comes into play. That’s why Michael has such trouble to express himself in this body, because he shared it with your brother’s soul for such a brief time. That’s why an angel will act a little differently in every vessel. The stronger the vessel, the stronger the effect, the deeper it runs. Two archangel-level True Vessels as stubborn as you?“

He’s smiling now, irony and ruefulness and joy, sees Sam get it a moment before he spells it out for him.

“You were Father’s great plan, Sam. You were both supposed to say yes, you were supposed to fight us and resonate with the parts of us that would give anything not to have to kill the other. You were what we should have been, and you were supposed to show us we can still be that, that we can still choose that.“ The smile crooks. “Except that the free will Father gifted you with backfired, at least in your brother’s case.“

Sam is studying him, caught between belief and disbelief.

“And God told you all that?“ he asks doubtfully.

“No. But tell me it doesn’t make sense to you, once you know He wanted us to stop.“

The hunter watches him for a while longer, then tentatively concedes the point.

“It would mean you were always supposed to get a second chance,“ he observes, and who knows why this is the one he chooses out of all the implications.

Lucifer allows his smile to turn sardonic. “It also means I was supposed to depend on humanity for it.“

Sam huffs. “You aren’t going to change in this, are you?“

Once more, Lucifer finds himself missing the dreamscape clarity, because he’d really want to know whether it’s amusement or disdain that was behind that little breath of air.

Not that it would change the reply.

“I’ll never serve humanity,“ he says. “But I think I’ve already found a few rare specimens worth existing.“

“You can’t have those few rare specimens without the rest of humanity,“ Sam replies, defiance returning into the line of his shoulders, and Lucifer can’t help but tease him a little.

“What a pity.“

o.O.o

This time, when Sam shuffles his way into the kitchen early in the morning, feeling wrung out and exhausted after another nightmare which he thankfully doesn’t remember, Lucifer is already there, making coffee. Since that was originally Sam’s mission, he folds his long body into one of the chairs by the table and rubs at his face as if he could massage his brain into functioning.

It takes him nearly a full minute of listening to the familiar sounds and hoping for a fresh cup to realize there’s something wrong with that. He lifts his head to stare at the angel blearily.

“Why are you making coffee?“

“I like it,“ Lucifer replies simply, watching the dripping liquid with interest, hip casually leaning against the counter.

“Coffee?“ Sam asks dubiously.

“Making it.“

“Huh.“ The unwelcome image of the Devil covering a mass grave with a shovel and looking as if he honestly enjoyed the workout appears behind his eyelids and he rubs them again to dislodge it. Half asleep as he is, it isn’t easy. “You do like working with your hands, don’t you?“

“I like the sensation.“

The answer is unexpected enough that Sam lifts his head again with some effort and makes a vague encouraging noise.

Lucifer presses the tips of his fingers of both hands against each other and taps his joined index fingers gently against his lips.

“You can’t do this in true form, Sam. Grace doesn’t touch, it permeates. Can you imagine how strange it is, to feel the barrier of skin between you and the world, even between various parts of yourself? Out of all the senses of a human body, touch is by far the most fascinating.“

Sam blinks, now interested enough to wake up a bit for it.

“Huh.“ It’s all that comes out of his mouth, but he’s thinking back to all those little gestures he saw Lucifer make, just a twitch of a hand or a tip of a tongue tracing the outline of his lip, and how these were missing when Lucifer appeared in his dreams.

“It’s not just the touch, either,“ Lucifer continues. “Have you ever studied a hand, Sam? The sensation of bone and muscle and sinew as it moves, the boundaries of what it does allow and what it does not. Have you ever just paused and _felt_?“

Sam doesn’t answer, eyes glued to the demonstration: a bare forearm, strong fingers closing and opening a fist, turning every which way, and the slow sensuality of it is enough to leave his mouth somewhat dryer than can be blamed on the lack of coffee.

He swallows and desperately tries to stop his mind from wandering, because if a hand is worth such focus and admiration, what else does Lucifer explore in the privacy of his room?

“Do you even have a room?“ he blurts out and the spell breaks. There’s pure confusion on Lucifer’s face because not even an angel can follow that mental leap, and suddenly they’re just two guys in a kitchen and the world is almost right again.

“No?“ Lucifer answers uncertainly.

The coffee has finished dripping and Sam craves it with the intensity of a thousand suns, because he’s pretty sure his imagination isn’t nearly as active when he’s properly caffeinated.

“You should get one. Michael, too. It’s not as if we didn’t have enough spares.“

The problem with the coffee is that it’s still in the coffee maker and the coffee maker is right next to Lucifer, and Sam isn’t quite sure how his traitorous mind (body) would react to the angel’s general vicinity at the moment.

“I don’t need to sleep,“ Lucifer reminds him gently. He doesn’t sound so perplexed anymore, but his hand still sort of hangs there between one gesture and the next.

“It’s not just about sleeping. It’s a space of your own-“

Sam pauses, frowns, meets Lucifer’s gaze. He’s not sure which one of them is more surprised by the turn of the conversation at this point. How did he get from his usual morning crawl to the kitchen to expressing the opinion that the Devil should have his own place in the bunker? More interestingly, he has a feeling that it isn’t an opinion that will melt away with enough caffeine in his system.

He takes a breath.

“Do you want one?“

“Yes.“ There’s a softness to Lucifer’s tone that suggests that maybe he reads just as much into it as Sam does, and that’s not something the hunter wants to deal with at the moment. He nods towards the machine on the counter.

“Can I get a cup?“

“Of course.“

Sam watches Lucifer serve him coffee, movements sure and unhurried, almost ceremonious, and silently despairs, because he realizes right then that he’s never going to be able to look at Lucifer’s hands the same ever again.

The coffee is strong enough to be used to fix potholes and Sam nearly spits the first mouthful out in surprise before he forces himself to swallow.

“Damn. You really don’t do anything in moderation, do you? How did you even get that much ground coffee into the machine?“

“There’s very little I can’t do when I put my mind to it,“ Lucifer claims smugly. “The stronger the better, isn’t that what your brother always says?“

Sam laughs. He laughs because the Devil is still an angel and therefore occasionally clueless, he laughs because Dean apparently managed to confuse another one into following him in the strangest ways, and he laughs because he didn’t have the opportunity to laugh at something so innocently silly in a long time.

“You know what? Let’s leave him some.“

Lucifer watches him strangely as if he couldn’t decide between being offended and pleased with himself.

He eventually nods, so the latter probably won.

o.O.o

To fly to the door of the bunker and let one of the Winchesters let him in has become a common courtesy in the past few days, one Lucifer barely thinks about anymore. But it’s more pleasant for everyone. The hunters prefer to have to go get the door every time rather than have him appear wherever and whenever he likes, and it makes Lucifer strangely happy that they do let him in, each and every time. Dean, of course, never fails to send him a warning look when he does. Sam looked uneasy the first few times, as if the symbolism wasn’t lost on him – which it probably wasn’t – but now he just greets him with a little nod and steps aside, more often than not adding one of his prayer-tests before Lucifer moves too far into the bunker.

The reason for being outside so often is less pleasant. Once they were all sure the work on the Tablet is progressing nicely, Gabriel started to prepare in earnest for the resurrection ritual, sending his brothers for various ingredients.

Okay, the belgian pralines Michael had to fly for probably weren’t a spell ingredient.

Either way, it’s an unwelcome reminder of the state of Gabriel’s wings, but more than that, it’s an unwelcome reminder of the state of their relationship. Lucifer doesn’t really mind the badly hidden glee with which Gabriel bosses them around, he doesn’t even really begrudge him the number of errands (the little fact that his younger sibling seems to be unable to put together one list so that they can gather everything in one go). Gabriel is angry and he’s letting off steam; even Michael can understand and respect that. But the requests, especially the ones he gives to Lucifer, are becoming increasingly outrageous – and risky in the long run. Lucifer never studied pagan magic; he had neither the opportunity nor desire for it, but he doubts amaranth plucked at the end of a solar eclipse is so much more potent than amaranth plucked at the brink of new moon or whatever is the closest equivalent, that it would justify the trip back in time that burned off most of the extra power he got from reclaiming the Mark.

They still aren’t sure about the state of their bond to Heaven. It’s possible that whatever they spend, they won’t get back until Heaven is reopened.

He finds Gabriel in one of the largest empty rooms the bunker has, which the archangel has commandeered quite possibly for its original purpose since the warding around it is meant to ensure that the protection spells outside the door won’t interfere with anything happening in here. There are a few shelves around the walls with the ingredients gathered so far and a large table full of papers with various diagrams and scribbled notes on them.

Seems one of the diagrams is drawn directly onto the table. There’s also a rabbit near the door, happily munching on a handful of dandelion leaves. When Lucifer enters and carefully steps over the animal, Gabriel doesn’t even lift his head, writing furiously, snapping to prolong the paper when he reaches the end of it.

Making up his mind, Lucifer walks closer, lays the jar with the amaranth on the table in front of his brother, and asks: “Is this really necessary?“

Gabriel doesn’t even stop writing, the dismissal more than clearly meant to rile Lucifer up.

“Maybe. You have a problem?“

Lucifer studies him for a moment, and then decides that enough is enough.

“Be fair, little brother,” he reprimands mildly. “You did try to kill me. Can you really blame me for self-defense?“

Gabriel fixes him with a stare and bares his teeth at him, his notes forgotten. “Oh, I’m not blaming you for anything. You did what you had to.“ He watches him for a couple of seconds, but Lucifer isn’t stupid enough to take the bait and agree, much less relax. Gabriel’s grimace twists even further away from a smile. “Call it previous experience, but I didn’t expect you to stop for me. The gloating, though, that was a nice touch. That really let me know how horrible it was for you to hurt me. _So_ sorry I made you go through that.“

Lucifer falls silent for a long while, not sure how to respond.

In the end, he says carefully: “I was angry-”

“Well guess what, I’m angry now. What exactly should I do to you with that excuse?“

Lucifer slams both palms onto the table.

“Take your part of the blame, little brother! You didn’t give me a chance to stop. You had lived on your own for millennia, you had to know so much more about choice than I did, you had to see the way out but you didn’t even try to show me. All you did was to hurl a couple of insults my way and move in for the kill. You were the one brother I had hoped to spare and there you were, standing in my way, making it look as if you’d rather die than watch me win. Be honest, Gabriel. Tell me you wouldn’t lash out in my place.“

Gabriel scowls at him.

“As if you would stop no matter what I said. You’d tell me you will if Michael stands down, and Michael would tell me he’ll stop if you ask forgiveness, and it would be the same old song all over again with me in the middle. There was no convincing either of you.“

There’s nothing to say to that, really, nothing that could make either of their actions any better, and if there is anything good that can come from talking about it further, Lucifer doesn’t see it. In the absence of better options, he settles for the only truth that can yet change anything:

“I’m happy you’re back.“

Now Gabriel breaks eye contact, as if that, unlike the argument, is somehow too much to handle.

“Yeah, well, not sure I can say the same, but thanks.“

Lucifer nods curtly and turns to leave. Before he can walk out the door, though, Gabriel’s voice stops him:

“I wasn’t trying to kill you, you know?“

Gabriel isn’t even looking to check if he listens, shuffling his papers awkwardly.

“Not blaming you for not noticing, it would have been a close call and chances are the result would have been the same, but I wasn’t trying to finish you off.“

“What were you trying to do?“ Lucifer prompts gently when nothing more is coming, doing his level best to keep his doubt out of it.

Gabriel lifts his eyes to him.

“Cripple you, take you out of the game. Then somehow trap Michael. It was a stupid plan, but it was the only one I could come up with on such a short notice, with you, you know, already slaughtering everyone.“

Lucifer studies him silently for a while.

“And you still thought you have a better chance with that than with convincing me?“

Gabriel doesn’t even hesitate. “One hundred percent, bro.“

The worst part about that is, he might be right. Not one hundred percent, but not very close to fifty, either. Possibly. Probably.

“I think,“ Lucifer starts very carefully, “that neither of us was thinking very clearly at that point, isn’t that right?“

Gabriel snorts. “Wow, that almost sounded like half an apology. Didn’t you pull something with the effort, big bro?“

But he doesn’t seem quite so hostile anymore, and that’s good enough, that’s more than good enough for one day. It took him and Michael close to an eternity to make peace. If he plays his cards right, Gabriel’s anger won’t last longer than a few centuries.

“I’m naming the bunny Prophet Mark Two alias Loony,“ Gabriel says suddenly. “Tell the others that if he survives the night, we’re good to go. Actually, tell the others also that I’ve already named him. I don’t want to know what Dean would come up with.“ He pauses. “Scratch that. I’m gonna ask Castiel to give him a name. Could be fun. I’m done here anyway.“

It’s a sign of the state of their alliance that the simple task of naming a rabbit given to one of them devolves into a shouting match of everyone against everyone within the first five minutes, at the end of which nobody knows whether they had fun or a real argument and the bunny remains nameless.

It dies during the night anyway.

Gabriel swears rather creatively and goes back to tweak the ritual.

Curiously, he doesn’t ask for any new ingredients.

He does send Michael for some more chocolate, though.

o.O.o

It’s late in the evening that Sam knocks on the door to Lucifer’s room, not sure whether he hopes to find him there or not.

The door opens.

Lucifer sits by the desk on the opposite side of the room, flipping through a book. Sam tenses for a moment, more than expecting it to be one of the volumes from the Men of Letters’ library even though the angel makes no move to hide it. Then he notices the colourful cover and momentarily forgets what he came for.

“Is that Harry Potter?“

Lucifer hums and continues to turn the pages with bemused sort of interest.

“Castiel said it’s an important part of current culture,“ he explains idly. “I can’t say I see the appeal, but then that could be said for most of humanity.“

Sam fights not to grin too openly.

“It’s a kids’ book. You might like the later ones better. They were supposed to grow with the reader.“

Lucifer lifts his eyes to him.

“I’m a celestial being older than this planet, Sam. I really don’t think that accounting for a few years of human development will make the story any closer to my tastes.“

“And yet you’re halfway through the first book already,“ Sam can’t resist pointing out. Between that and telling the Devil that he occasionally behaves like a teenager regardless it’s the wiser option anyway.

Case in point, Lucifer firmly closes the book and sets it aside with a slightly sour expression.

“I’m sure that’s not what you wanted to talk to me about this late.“

It’s enough to make Sam’s good mood vanish.

“Yes.“ It occurs to him that he’s still standing in the doorframe, but there’s nowhere to sit in the room except on Lucifer’s bed which, in an unwelcome reminder of their previous conversation, doesn’t look as unused as could be expected from an angel.

Sam opts to stay where he is.

“According to lore, Gadreel is the one who let you into Eden, right?“

The sudden spark of interest in Lucifer’s eyes makes him vaguely unsettled, which only adds to the deep seated uneasiness his recent talk with Castiel left him with.

“Go on.“

“How did you convince him?“

Lucifer’s gaze is a bit too shrewd for his liking as he thinks about the request. Or maybe pretends to think about the request.

“How about I tell you that little story, and you tell me what happened between you two?“

Sam’s heart sinks. This is exactly what he feared going in. He considers refusing, but this could very well be a matter of Cas’s safety if the angel really means to do what he implied. Cas kept his cards pretty close to his chest about what he wants to do, but Sam has his suspicions. The worst part being, he kind of knows where Cas is coming from. He only wishes he didn’t. It was so much easier to simply hate the sentry.

Another matter is that if Lucifer is curious enough to haggle for the information, he will find other ways to get it, and Sam would rather try to control what he learns. Especially in light of Cas’s possible plans.

“Fine, if you go first.“

Lucifer cants his head.

“No tricks, Sam. No half-truths. Can you promise that?“

Sam frowns. Not because of the lack of trust – between the two of them Lucifer isn’t the one who had tried to trick the other, he must give him that much – but because the tone the angel used reminds him of that other game they had played once.

“I’m not going to go into details, but I will tell you the truth.“

He fully expects the Devil to want a more specific promise than that, but after only a moment of consideration Lucifer nods.

“There’s not that much to say about me and Gadreel,“ he says lightly, the shadow of a pleased smirk making him look almost boyish. “I walked up to the gates and told him I need to pass. And he let me pass.“

The statement hangs between them for several seconds in which Lucifer grins faintly and Sam waits for some sort of explanation that doesn’t come.

„That’s it?“

Lucifer’s grin widens briefly, then turns wry.

“It was back then, Sam,“ he says gently. “Very few angels could comprehend the idea of a need that didn’t come from God’s will and command. Gadreel wasn’t one of them.“

Sam stares at him, hardly able to grasp what he’s just heard.

“He spent thousands of years in prison for that.“

Lucifer shrugs. “Not my doing. Would it make you feel better if I told you I didn’t expect him to get quite the backlash he did? He was as much my enemy at the time as anyone could get, blindly in love with humanity since the moment Adam opened his eyes, and influential, too, only a step down from an archangel. The Wall of God, Shield of Eden, one of the greatest heroes of the Host. His fall made angels think, and that was what I needed. I kept the story to myself. I did expect him to be released once the whole affair blows over, but I can’t say I really cared.“

Sam doesn’t say anything. He can’t find the words. It’s probably too late to admit to himself that he had hoped in something that would paint Gadreel an irredeemable traitor, so that he could warn Cas and forget all about the mixed signals he keeps getting from the sentry.

”Mind, I wasn’t planning a war,“ Lucifer continues after a while, his tone soft, his gaze heavy on Sam. “An angel killing an angel, that was an idea even I couldn’t comprehend. The way I saw it, if enough of us disagreed with Father, if we gave him proof his newest creation is flawed, he’d surely change his mind.“ He shrugs. “It didn’t play out that way. They call it the First War, but it was a massacre. We were too few and we weren’t prepared. I was the only one allowed to live. You know the rest.“

The silence stretches and Sam lets it, because anything he could say would be too insignificant compared to the magnitude of what Lucifer revealed here. For the first time he realizes that Lucifer really is so ancient that he can’t be fully held to human standards of morality – not because he would be too good for them, but because you can’t blame a person for breaking rules that don’t exist yet, or for being unable to foresee the consequences of his actions when there is no previous example.

Michael’s blind obedience under the circumstances suddenly makes a lot more sense, as does God’s demanding it from His angels. He had to be the only one who had the foresight to understand what can happen. Even if it was because He made parts of it happen himself.

Whatever Lucifer reads into his speechlessness, it doesn’t seem to make him unhappy. He doesn’t give Sam long to get his bearings, though.

“And your story?“ he reminds.

Maybe it’s a good thing that Sam is still occupied with what he’s just heard, because he can give what Lucifer asks for without letting it get to him too much.

“You know we tried to board up Hell, right?“ At Lucifer’s nod, he continues: “I didn’t finish the Trials, but I was dying. Gadreel offered to heal me from the inside. I was in a coma, but he somehow managed to trick me into a good enough consent. I had no idea until he betrayed us, took over, killed Kevin and joined Metatron. Or maybe openly joined Metatron, though I think they first talked when he was already in. After that it didn’t take Dean and Cas too long to get me back. Once I knew he’s there, I cast him out, and that was it. He’s been acting as Metatron’s second in command ever since.“

It’s easier to recount than he feared, but the words still leave a sour taste in his mouth and unwelcome images in his head. He already knows he won’t dare to go to sleep today.

“He crossed a line,“ Lucifer says dangerously calmly.

“You’re still not allowed to get into a pissing match over it. I’m not yours. What Gadreel did is between me, him and Dean.“

Lucifer narrows his eyes. “He offered to heal you. To Dean.“

“And that one is between me and my brother,“ Sam replies firmly. “I mean it. Leave it alone.“

“Sam. He practically took you without consent-“

“How about you leave Gadreel to me and I never ask Michael how he got Adam to say yes?“ Sam snaps. “Because last I saw Adam, he wouldn’t agree without blackmail or torture. Whatever is consent supposed to mean, it clearly doesn’t mean a thing to most of your siblings. Once more: Lay off.“

Lucifer measures him, lips pressed into a hard line, and Sam stares him down the best he’s able.

“You can’t expect me to forget it, Sam.“

“I don’t. I just expect you to remember that it’s my call what to do about it.“

It’s thanks to the previous topic that Sam is still very much aware the being in front of him is not human. He can feel the push of Lucifer’s will against his in an echo of a much more literal battle of wills they once fought. Lucifer is a force of nature, more than used to level everything in his path like a landslide, so it’s a reason for awe to watch all that power to slow down and finally come to a halt for him.

“As you wish, Sam.“

The words are quiet and simple, but they mean the world – more than just a resolution of the matter at hand. They mean a degree of respect Sam wouldn’t think the Devil capable of.

“Thank you.“ And he’s honest in that. Not because he’d be so grateful for the concession he had every right to demand, but because Lucifer is clearly making an effort, and he actually isn’t half bad at it.

Lucifer just nods, looking thoughtful, and Sam turns to leave.

“Goodnight.“

The reply comes when he’s already almost out of earshot, but it’s unmistakably pleased anyway.

“Goodnight, Sam.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6000+ words in 10 days. Worship me. :D (And please don’t expect a repeat performance anytime soon. This is what happens when pretty much everything goes exceptionally well.)
> 
> I swear that bit about Lucifer liking to do stuff with his hands and exploring the potential of a body was how I intended to start the whole Samifer plot – I just needed to get those two physically into the same space so that Sam could notice.  
> It took me just ~35k words, no problem. *facepalm*
> 
> So, what say you? Did I strike the right balance between developing the relationship too abruptly too fast and frustrating you with the slowness of it? :D
> 
> (Next chapter: Back to the adventure part of the plot!)


	15. Chapter 15

By the time Ms. Tran finally arrives, the mood in the bunker is cautiously optimistic: nobody got killed yet and Loony Two, resurrected from nothing more than a singed tooth, survived over twenty-four hours without any ill side-effects. (She currently has a free reign of Gabriel’s room, because finding her in the kitchen had Dean muttering something about roasted rabbit, even as he stole the last of Sam’s lettuce to feed her.)

Linda Tran, Sam notes, doesn’t look any different from when he last saw her: too thin, lines of suffering etched into her face, but holding herself together with iron will. He half expects Kevin to walk in right after her, but the ghost is nowhere to be seen.

They exchange greetings and run into the first unexpected hurdle: How do you tell a near‑civilian that besides him, Dean and Castiel, the three extra guys gathered in the room are archangels, two of them former and one of those the Devil?

“Hello, I’m Gabriel and I’m the reason we need to talk to Kevin. Those two creepy lurkers over there are my brothers. Don’t mind them.“

The answer: You don’t. Gabriel weathers Ms. Tran’s measuring gaze with an easy smile, letting her control the handshake he offered.

“Linda Tran. Dean told me Kevin can help you get back at the bastard who murdered him.“

“Him and his master both,“ Gabriel agrees readily. “We got hold of some pieces of the Angel tablet. We think Kevin might still be able to read it.“

He doesn’t even bat an eye at the half-truth they agreed on, keeping his face straight and the conversation to the point, almost business-like. Knowing Gabriel’s usual exuberant persona, and his darker, more intense real self – assuming that what he shows when push comes to shove is close enough to his real self – this muted, mostly polite version of him is disconcerting to watch.

“I talked to him. He wants to see if he can help you.“

“Good. That’s good,“ Dean says, and Sam offers a tentative smile of his own.

“He visits every Saturday evening, that’s tomorrow,“ Ms. Tran continues briskly. “Can I stay here or should I find a motel in town?“

That gives Dean a pause.

“He shows up only once a week?“

Ms. Tran lifts her chin.

“He is busy.“

Dean’s brow furrows. “Busy? What can a ghost be busy with?“

She cuts him a scathing look, kind of deserved for the insensitive comment.

“I believe he will want to tell you himself.“

The hunters exchange uneasy glances. Sam hopes Kevin isn’t trying something against Metatron, or anything else that would make him slide towards a vengeful spirit. He isn’t sure what would that mean for the resurrection.

“I think I will be able to call him ahead of schedule if that’s fine with you,“ Gabriel offers easily. “May I borrow the ring?“

Ms. Tran tenses, looking at everybody present in turn. She ends up addressing Dean, a note of urgency in her tone:

“He isn’t dangerous. I know what you said last time. I would have called you if he showed any signs he is turning violent. You don’t need to do this.“

Sam startles. “You think- No. Ms. Tran, we didn’t call you here because we wanted to check on Kevin. We really think he can help us.“

“Kevin is a good kid,“ Dean adds. “He wouldn’t turn bad so quickly. But we need to talk to him, alone. The less you know the safer you are, and he’d have our asses if we put you in danger.“

She hesitates and Gabriel speaks again, soft and earnest:

“Ms. Tran. Lend me the ring so that we can talk to your son, and I promise I’ll return him to you.“

Her gaze snaps back to him sharply, but he doesn’t take that little slip-up back, holding the eye-contact. Whether that’s the Trickster out in full force or the Messenger, he is pretty damn convincing.

“What are you?“ she asks abruptly.

Now he blinks. “Excuse me?“

“You are involved with the Tablet, you aren’t an ordinary person. What are you? A hunter, a psychic? Angel, demon, human? Why should I entrust my son to you? You didn’t even give me a surname.“

He stares at her a bit longer, then suddenly laughs. “Wow. You really are something else, aren’t you?” He shrugs, eyes dancing with mirth. “I’m _the_ Gabriel. The first one. No surname, sorry.“

“You are the archangel,“ she comes to the unavoidable conclusion, frowning.

“Got it in one.“

She glances at Lucifer and Michael, startled.

“That makes them-“

“Technically, they could be any other two angels, since we’re all siblings,“ Gabriel interrupts. “But yeah. You have here three archangels out of the four who ever existed. If you think that’s the worst company you’ve ever been in, I graciously forgive you and chances are I’ll agree with you before dinner at least once. But I meant it,“ he suddenly grows serious again. “We just need to talk to Kevin. My word.”

It doesn’t move her an inch.

“It was an angel who murdered my son.“

“And it wouldn’t have happened if I could reach him at the time,“ Michael steps in. “It’s our duty to protect the Prophet until he is meant to die.“

There aren’t all that many easily noticeable similarities between Michael and Dean, other than the whole ‘trying to take care of younger siblings in the absence of their father’ thing, but apparently, the ability to put their foot in their mouth and make Sam want to facepalm is one of them.

Predictably, Ms. Tran’s disbelief at that statement quickly gives way to anger. “Where were you, then?“

“Dead or similarly thoroughly and absolutely unavailable,” Gabriel says. “What Mike meant to say, Kevin’s soul is safe with us. If you can’t trust our word and those three guys you know, trust common sense. We really have better things to do than chase wayward ghosts.“

She still hesitates for a good long while after that, but finally she produces the ring and hands it to him.

“I’ll hold you to your word,“ she warns him.

There are many things the archangel Gabriel, currently one of the most powerful beings in the universe, could reply to that.

He just nods.

 

They leave Ms. Tran in the library with a cup of coffee at hand and take it to the study where Lucifer and Michael were working on the Tablet. The moment they close the door behind them, Gabriel taps the ring with his knuckle.

“Hello! Anybody home?“

Kevin appears almost instantly, a surprised frown already on his face. It deepens momentarily as he takes in the strangers in the room, but once he notices Sam and Dean, his expression clears.

“Hey guys. What’s up?“

He looks good, for a ghost. Content. Maybe not exactly peaceful, but much better than expected, considering the press of souls supposedly jammed in the Veil.

Dean gives him a relieved smile. “Hey Kev. Your mom says you’re kinda busy lately?“

“Yeah.“ He looks at the angels again, more pointedly this time.

Gabriel smirks and points to himself with a thumb, then to his brothers. “Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer. Yup, exactly those. Kinda late to the party, sorry for that, but we have something good for you. You’re making us all curious, though. What is it that’s so interesting out there?“

Kevin glances at the hunters, but at their encouraging looks he cautiously shrugs.

“We figured we’re gonna go crazy if we wait until we can go to Heaven. So we’re building our own.“

His statement is met with stunned silence.

“You’re doing what?“ Dean voices the question that’s on everybody’s mind.

Keving shrugs again, more confident.

“Souls are power, right? We’re using it for our own purposes. It’s similar to learning to manifest, really, except that we focus on imagining what we like. Most people don’t have the juice and concentration to hold their own personal vision, but we have a couple of pretty sweet common spaces, and lots of smaller groups that share. It takes a lot of effort, but it beats being jammed against each other without any sort of order. I’m one of the key organizers, so you can imagine it gets busy.“ He looks around at their various incarnations of a dumbfounded expression, and gives a little grin. “What? I have always wanted to run for president. Figures I had to wait until I was dead due to that damned Prophet business, but at least the inside info came in handy.“

That’s when Gabriel shakes off the shock.

“See?“ he exclaims triumphantly, jabbing a finger at Kevin but turned to Lucifer. “This is what I was talking about. This is humanity for you. Shit goes down, they pick themselves back up. They don’t need us – Michael – they don’t _need_ your Paradise.“

“Because that would go so well if they had to work with souls destined for Hell, too,“ Lucifer grumbles, but his gaze at Kevin is thoughtful.

Kevin snorts. “Really, just some of these who are supposed to go to Heaven are enough. I have no idea who decides those things. Anyway. Not that I wouldn’t be happy to see you,“ he addresses the hunters once again, “but if I passed, I’d really like to go back to work.“

“If you- Hey,“ Dean protests, “why do you both think we called you here to check on you?“

Kevin rolls his eyes. “Because I’m not stupid? Because even if you did have some Tablet you’d need me to read, and even if I was still able to read it, you know how hard that stuff is. I wouldn’t get more than a word or two before I’d have to recharge, and that on a good day.“

Gabriel grins wide at him.

“And that’s exactly why you’ll need a body.“

Kevin’s head snaps back to him and he frowns as if he wasn’t sure he understood the words correctly.

“I’m offering a resurrection, one time deal,“ Gabriel elaborates with a flair. “Courtesy of your friendly resident archangel slash pagan god. As a bonus, one hundred percent free of craving for human brains.“

“You want to bring me back to life.”

“That’s what I’m saying.“

Kevin glances from him to the hunters, who look hopeful, to Castiel, who looks intense and absolutely serious, and returns to him.

“What’s the catch?“

“Being the Prophet again? I gathered you weren’t very happy with that. Just between us, very few Prophets were, and those were even more bonkers than the rest. No offence. Oh, and Metatron will try to kill you again if he finds out you’re back, so you’ll be under house arrest until the whole thing blows over.“

“So back to square one. Sleepless nights, too many energy drinks, headaches – I was so happy to forget how it feels to have a headache.”

Gabriel snorts. “I’m not forcing you. We don’t even know for sure you’re going to come back a Prophet.“

“And if I don’t?“

“I’d have to kill you again, of course,“ Gabriel says, perfectly straight-faced, and holds under Lucifer’s amusement and everybody else’s disapproving scowl for several seconds before he amends: “No, too much hassle, but you’d probably have to stay here anyway. Sorry to break it to you, kid, but you’d still know too much even if you could convince everybody out there you’re harmless. Not that we’d keep you if you decided to risk your life.“

“Look, Kevin, I know you didn’t have it easy, and I would understand if you didn’t want to come back. I would,“ Sam says, caught between desperate hope and the need to do the right thing, as hard as it suddenly is on the other side of the barricade. “It’s your decision. But it would help a lot – it would be great to have you back.“

“Yeah,“ Dean chimes in, soft. “And hey, we have a TV now, and all the movies you could want to watch, ever.”

“Which I won’t be able to watch if I’m busy with the Tablet,“ Kevin points out. He looks between the brothers, back and forth as if he was looking for something that doesn’t come. “You’re kidding, right? Of course I want back.”

“And this is also humanity for you,“ Lucifer mutters, quietly enough to pretend nobody was supposed to hear. “Such grand projects, so much selfishness to send them tumbling down.“

Kevin glares at him. “Pretty sure I’ll be more useful to the others here, trying to figure out how to reopen the actual Heaven, than in the Veil. I said I’m one of the key organizers, not the only one.“

“There is one more catch, though,“ Gabriel speaks again, blatantly ignoring the little exchange and drawing Kevin’s attention back to himself. “It’s not exactly a true heavenly resurrection we’re talking about here, what with Heaven being closed for business. It’s a pagan ritual, even if it’s powered by archangel. So it will draw power partially from your soul itself. You make it, great, you’re alive, no side effects. Something goes wrong, really wrong, you’re gone. No soul, no afterlife, guaranteed full atheist experience. You sure you want to risk that?“

Instead of a doubtful expression, Kevin’s whole form flickers.

“How big is the chance it goes wrong?”

“Currently it’s 1:1 in rabbits,“ Gabriel replies insolently. “But of course I didn’t go all out on them. Seriously, I’m not Spock to give you a probability down to decimal places. If I had to guess, I’d say anything between five and fifteen percent.“

Kevin flickers again.

“Think about it, kid. The best time will be tomorrow night at around three in the morning. You have until midnight to decide.“

They see Kevin nod, and then he’s gone.

o.O.o

He is distantly aware he is dreaming, but it gives him no control. It drags him along with a sick sense of inevitability, through the familiar corridors, up into the library, to Kevin, somewhat wary but ultimately too trusting anyway.

He knows this dream. He knows what will happen.

He can’t stop it.

It’s wrong, so wrong, panic clogging his throat as he crosses the distance to Kevin in a few quick strides, as he raises his hand. It’s loss and mourning and guilt – he’s been down this road before – but he’s still moving, the pressure of necessity locking his will away, locking him away, and then it’s too late.

The worst part of this is, the smiting itself feels like a blessing.

It’s too much good too fast, burning away exhaustion and grief, anger and the weight of responsibility, every tangle of a mind, every sin, everything that went wrong in every human being since the fall of Eden, it’s right there, being erased by a single act of purification.

It doesn’t take much of that, it doesn’t take much at all to sever the link between the soul and the body and set the spirit free.

He wakes up with a gasp just as he feels the soul leave, already heaving up to curl up with his knees against his chest and his fingers dragging through his hair in a vain attempt to ground himself. He’s shaking all over as if something was crawling under his skin in the absolute darkness of his room, small involuntary spasms of muscle, out of control, not _his_ , and he takes several long gulps of stale air to stop himself from throwing up.

His stomach settles after a while, a clenched, leaden weight in his gut, but the shivers do not.

Reaching blindly for the nightstand, his phone reveals it’s only half past one in the morning. He went to sleep less than two hours ago, tomorrow is a big day and he can’t, he just can’t.

It wouldn’t be the first time nightmares kept him up for several days in a row, forcing him to function on caffeine, adrenaline and far too short naps, but it’s one thing to survive that because he doesn’t have a choice, and another thing to refuse himself the comfort he knows he can have.

With a sharp click of the old switch he turns on the reading lamp, squeezing his eyes shut against the sudden light until he gets used to it enough to see. Then he pads over to the drawer, grabs the uppermost t-shirt and pulls it over his head, because even groggy as he is, this isn’t something he wants to do in just his underwear.

“Lucifer.“

And huh. It’s different to do this aloud.

“Um, could you… drop by?“

Damn, it feels stupid now, and he sits down on the edge of the bed and buries his face in his hands. He could have at least done this the human way, check if Lucifer is in his room. It would have been more polite, if nothing else. (Nothing else. It’s still childish. He’s a grown man. He should be able to handle nightmares. He handled hallucinations for a while.)

There’s a rustle, that sound that is purely Lucifer’s, as if his wings were made of ice and dry leaves instead of feathers, and Sam’s feeble hope that maybe he didn’t notice is squashed, just like that.

“What’s the matter, Sam?“

Lucifer’s voice is gentle, cool against his frayed nerves, and he wants to burrow into it and never come up for air.

And this is exactly why talking to Lucifer while he’s half asleep is a supremely bad idea. But it would get even weirder, and very fast, if Sam changed his mind now.

“I’m having nightmares again,“ he says and finally chances a glance up at the angel. “Do you think you could..?“

He can’t really bring himself to finish the request, so he hangs his head again and rubs at his forehead with the heel of one hand.

He shudders all over, the last spasm of a dying beast inside him, and the shivers cease.

Lucifer is silent for a while, then he comes and sits on the bed beside him, moving with that deliberate sort of ease Sam is beginning to read as the angel trying to get used to his body. Sam tenses, even though there’s more than a foot of space between them.

“You wouldn’t let me help you since you knew I’m real,“ Lucifer says, voice free of blame, almost gentle. And then: “Are you sure you won’t regret it in the morning?“

The laugh that wants to bubble up Sam’s throat loses force somewhere along the way and comes out as a weak chuckle. For a moment he distracts himself by wondering if the play on their situation was deliberate; he wouldn’t put it past Lucifer to be able to catch on the meaning of innuendos and start to using them about as curiously as he used cellphones.

Which would make all that talk about entering a vessel somewhat disturbing.

He shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the question instead.

Except that there’s no easy answer.

 _I trust you_ is preposterous.

 _I want to trust you_ is closer to the truth. The same way he’d wanted to trust Ruby, and it led to him starting the Apocalypse. Trusting the Devil himself is certainly a step-up. On a good day he tells himself that it must mean something that he’s not the only one here cautiously giving him a chance (but then, nobody knows what happened in the Cage between Lucifer and Michael, and Gabriel is a wildcard at the best of times, and him and Dean and Cas all have made too many terrible mistakes to rely on each other’s opinions). On a bad day… on a bad day he can’t bring himself to care anymore. They will trust him for now, deal with the current mess, and if he’s playing them, they’ll deal with that mess, too, or die trying; by now the weight of guilt for yet another fuck‑up would hardly make a difference.

_I’d offer you oblivion._

“You were right,“ he says quietly, not looking at the angel next to him. “I’m tired.“

Lucifer hums.

“So you will regret it in the morning, but at least you’ll be awake enough to do so?“

There’s a wry smile in there somewhere and the corner of Sam’s lips twitches upwards in response.

“Probably,“ he admits.

“But you’ve made up your mind,“ Lucifer checks.

Sam huffs, lips curling up further.

“You don’t have to take it so seriously. It’s just dreams. Or so you say.” He glances at the angel out the corner of his eye. “That’s as far as the permission goes.“

Lucifer nods.

Silence, surprisingly comfortable, falls between them.

“You will need to be asleep for me to influence your dreams, Sam.“

He startles at the sound of Lucifer’s amused voice. He must have blanked out, which is… bad. How many nights since he last slept properly, again?

“Right.“

To crawl under the covers with Lucifer there is awkward, made even more awkward by the angel refusing to move from where he’s sitting on one edge of them. Sam considers saying something, but it seems like too much effort. He hits the pillow with a half-conscious groan and lets his eyes fall shut.

He realizes within the first half a minute he’s too exhausted to sleep.

There’s tension thrumming through his body, the air is too dry, the comforter too warm, the light of the reading lamp too strong but he really doesn’t want to move and turn it off. His mind feels empty and crowded at the same time; he can’t catch a single thought that would make sense but he can’t stop thinking, either.

Lucifer is unnaturally still next to him and it gives him the creeps.

Sam makes a half-hearted attempt to roll over and mumbles a frustrated protest into the pillow, not even caring how pathetic he must look.

“I can help you sleep,“ Lucifer suggests.

“Please,“ Sam breathes out.

The weight of the other body on the bed finally shifts, which is nice. It shifts quite a lot, which is strange, and then there is a presence looming over him, and that is definitely unexpected and maybe even worth opening his eyes for, which he’ll do in about a second.

His last sensation before he’s plunged into sleep is a touch too soft to be fingertips pressing against his temple.

o.O.o

They don’t talk much, not even when one of them gets up to fix and pass around a new batch of sandwiches or coffee. Ms. Tran sits ramrod straight, shredding what must be at least the third tissue to tiny flakes of paper, and doesn’t bother to pick up the bits that end up on the floor. Every once in a while she takes a delicate sip of coffee, lines of weariness and worry etched deeply into her face, now more prominent than ever.

Dean sits hunched, slightly out of her sight, elbows on his knees, staring at his hands loosely clasped in front of him. He drinks every new mug of coffee in several long gulps when it’s still so hot it must hurt. The sandwiches are his handiwork; even now he’s making sure nobody goes hungry. Castiel has faded into the background, not in the mood for experiments with food or drinks. When he doesn’t stare down the corridor leading to the room where the ritual is taking place, he watches Dean with worried eyes.

Sam… Sam can’t bring himself to eat, and barely to drink, and definitely can’t look at his hands. Instead he flexes them every few minutes, makes a fist and releases it, reassured when his muscles follow the orders of his brain – and then he remembers Lucifer, that unknowingly sensuous, slow display of his, and quickly ceases… until the stillness grows too long, his body going numb, and it starts to feel as if it could be somebody else’s again.

It’s like waiting outside the operating room, except the patient is already dead and they all know perfectly well how it feels to mourn him.

It’s half past three in the morning and where are they, Gabriel promised the ritual itself won’t take all that long when he walked away down that corridor shortly after midnight, the ring in his hand and Michael and Lucifer in tow to help with the last preparations.

But here they come. There are footsteps now and everyone freezes, eyes glued to the entrance. Sam can’t for the life of him tell whether that’s four pairs of legs or three, and his heart is in his throat as he’s trying to count.

Kevin is the first one in, coming to a hesitant halt barely clear of the doorframe. He’s pale, thin, exhausted as they knew him, and for a moment he just stands there, drinking all of them in, and they’re afraid to move.

Then, slowly, a grin breaks out on his face, tentative at first but growing bright, washing the exhaustion away.

“Hey, guys.“ And softer, with a hitch in his voice nobody will hold against him, ever: “Mom.“

Dean is the first out of the chair, striding right up to him. Only Sam notices the split second of hesitation before he raises his hands and clasps Kevin’s shoulders, and under the bright lights of the library his palms connect, bunch the fabric under them in a way that is perfectly natural, and the next second Dean engulfs Kevin in a hug, trying to squeeze the freshly returned life right back out of him.

Somewhere to the side, Ms. Tran chokes on a startled sob, but Sam can’t spare the attention, too busy wrapping himself around both his brother and Kevin, warm and solid and _there_. Then Kevin’s mom is there, too, burrowing between the Winchesters, all determination and sharp elbows, and after a short half-hug, half-scuffle the brothers step aside, grinning, to let the Trans have a moment to themselves, well-deserved and long overdue.


	16. Chapter 16

It takes them a while to even notice the three angels who wandered in after Kevin – more than enough time for Gabriel to sprawl over Sam’s chair and steal his untouched sandwich. Sam lets the provocation, if it is a provocation, fall flat, too happy to care. His gaze goes automatically to Lucifer next, only to glimpse him disappearing in the direction of the kitchen. Michael lingers close to Gabriel, watching the frankly private moment between mother and son with unwavering attention, and Sam shakes his head. He used to think nobody can be as socially inept as Cas used to be (and occasionally still is), but Michael sure exceeds him at times.

“Hey, didn’t mommy teach you not to stare?“ Dean says offhandedly on his way to his own chair, his good mood dulling the bite of the words.

Michael glances at him in puzzlement before he returns his gaze to the Trans.

“You know I don’t have a mother, unless you want to use an unconventional gender for God. And God actually assigned us to watch over humanity and especially His Prophets, so no, He didn’t.“

Gabriel snorts. “Good one, bro.“

“Thank you,“ Michael says, unperturbed.

Dean’s eyebrow rises.

“That was a joke?“

“Behold the stand-up comedy, Michael-style!“ Gabriel exclaims and drums a quick rhythm onto the table. Then he falls back into the chair, letting his grin fade. “Nearly forgot you used to have a sense of humor,“ he adds, more to himself than anyone else.

“It’s been a long time since I had a reason to use it,“ Michael replies anyway.

“And that’s exactly where you are wrong. There’s always a reason for humor. The shittier the situation, the more you need.“

Michael gives him a strange look that quickly becomes thoughtful, but doesn’t comment, instead returning his attention to the family reunion across the room. But Ms. Tran already disentangled herself from the embrace and turned to all of them (although she stands close enough to Kevin to never lose contact with him, as if the moment she stops touching him he could vanish again).

“Thank you,“ she says firmly, addressing the archangel, who just nods with a sardonic smirk. “And thank you all for waiting with me, but I’d like to spend some time alone with my son now.“

“Uh, sorry, no can do,“ Gabriel says, grimacing a bit. “He’s not completely out of the woods yet. Nothing serious,“ he adds quickly when he sees her alarmed look. “His soul is safe, but his body could still remember it should be dead. Multiple organ failure, fun stuff like that. Nothing I or Mike here couldn’t fix, but we need to be right there if it happens. So you’re stuck with one of us until morning at least. Lunch to be on the safe side. Oh, and I don’t want to see you anywhere near the Tablet for the next few days, kiddo, until I’m sure you really hold together.“

Going by Kevin’s expression, it’s only the last part that is any surprise to him, and as surprises go, it seems to be mostly a pleasant one.

“Not gonna complain about that.“

“I can watch you,“ Michael offers. “I have little interest in human interaction and I can give you my word I won’t speak about anything I’ll see or hear. It’s the closest to privacy you can safely get for the time being.“

Kevin looks at him in wonder, then at the hunters. “Where do you pick up these oddballs?“

“I suspect all angels are ‘oddballs‘ from human point of view,“ Castiel joins in. “And vice versa.“ He inclines his head to Kevin. “It’s good to have you back.“

Kevin smiles at him. “Thanks.“

“We could all watch a movie, chill together until you’re good to be on your own,“ Dean suggests, but Kevin grimaces apologetically.

“Sorry, I think I’ll take Michael up on his offer and go crash. I feel as if I had to personally fetch every single molecule of my body from wherever it went. I’m dead on my feet.“ He catches himself, then grins. “Pun unintended. How about a movie night tomorrow? Or later today, I guess?“

“Sounds good.“

They all part shortly after that, since it’s late for everybody – at least everybody human. Sam makes it halfway to his room, only to realize he’s suddenly, ravenously, hungry. For a moment he debates the merits of sleeping on it, but in the end he gives in to the growling of his stomach.

It doesn’t surprise him too much to find Lucifer still in the kitchen. He’s sucking on his own finger, a thoughtful expression on his face and a bottle of Dean’s chilli sauce in the other hand. Sam snorts, shakes his head and makes a beeline for the fridge.

“What?“

“I really don’t think the trick of tasting food is in going for the strongest tastes,“ Sam says, hiding his smile behind the fridge door. “Why don’t you ask Gabriel? Cas learned it from him in half an hour.“

The silence behind him is several seconds longer than expected. Shit.

“I don’t think he’s in the mood,“ Lucifer says lightly.

Alright, so Dean and Michael aren’t the only ones prone to stuffing their foot in their mouth. And maybe it would be better for everybody if he left it at that, but let it not be said he can’t be reckless when he wants to. He stares into the mostly empty fridge for a moment more, then grabs a covered plate with leftovers from lunch, puts them in the microwave and shrugs.

“Maybe he would be if you asked him. Seemed to me he feels pretty damn good about himself right now.“

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lucifer rubbing his fingers together experimentally and frowning at them.

“Can’t be that difficult. If he could find out how to do it, I can do it, too.“

Sam shakes his head, suppressing a smile.

“Younger brother pro-tip: We like it when the big brother occasionally admits we can do something he can’t.“

Lucifer grins just the tiniest bit. “Which is exactly why we mustn’t do it too often.“

Sam shakes his head again, amused despite himself.

“Suit yourself.“

The quiet _clack_ of a hot sauce bottle replaced on the counter is like a period after that conversation.

“Sam.“ Lucifer’s tone is still light, his expression neutral, but when Sam glances at him, he finds himself caught by his gaze. “Do you want me to give you a dream again tonight?“

And damn his traitorous brain for immediately heading down to the gutter under the intensity of that stare. He honest-to-God startles at the ding of the microwave, but at least it saves him from asking what kind of dream.

He can’t believe he was tempted to do that for a second.

He busies himself with rummaging for a fork and taking out the heated plate. “I think I’m good, thanks.“

“As you wish.“

Lucifer’s tone doesn’t betray anything and Sam hesitates, taking his time putting his steaming food on the table.

“It was a good day today,“ he explains without being asked to. “Honestly, if I can’t sleep without nightmares on my own after a day like this, then I can’t do it, ever. But do you think… If I wake up from one some other day, could I call?“

He just barely manages to make his voice sound more or less casual and he refuses to lift his eyes from his plate, already shoveling potatoes drenched in gravy in his mouth as an excuse.

“Of course,“ Lucifer replies, soft and pleased.

Sam relaxes, his appetite returning with a vengeance. He nearly forgets Lucifer is still there until another fork snakes in and steals one of his potatoes.

“Hey!“

“My mouth hurts,“ Lucifer complains, completely ignoring Sam’s yell of outrage. “The sauce was too hot. How come that I can let myself feel that, but not the taste?“

Sam very nearly snorts a mouthful back onto his plate, shoulders shaking with laughter.

 

Kevin is still in one piece in the morning. Whatever passes for morning when they finally reconvene at one of the emptier tables in the library for a celebratory breakfast of pancakes, bacon, eggs, syrup and everything else anybody could want with that, because the table they usually use is too small for seven people.

Lucifer is trying out a piece of everything, looking smug like a cat that just found the warmest pile of freshly ironed laundry to lie on. Sam keeps glancing between him and Gabriel in an attempt to find out whether he finally got the hang of it on his own or whether he swallowed his pride and asked his brother, but it’s hard to tell. Gabriel is busy charming the Trans with anecdotes from the pagan pantheons and doesn’t pay the others much attention.

He doesn’t seem to mind Lucifer caught up to him, and Sam decides that will have to be good enough.

o.O.o

The day is spent between catching up, chatting and simply lazing around, because with Kevin on forced vacation for the time being, nobody is in the mood to continue the so far fruitless research. Except that at one point, the conversation somehow veers towards the souls in the Veil and their new Heaven and what might be the repercussions of that, a topic that quickly draws in all four angels. Dean gives up first, rolling his eyes good-naturedly and leaving them to it. Ms. Tran hurries after him; when Sam notices her next, she has one of the volumes from the library opened on the table in front of her and divides her attention between it and her son. Kevin and Sam try to keep up at first, but other than answering the questions that grow steadily farther apart, Kevin doesn’t have much to say, and Sam loses the thread of the conversation for good when the angels switch into Enochian, since English apparently lacks the vocabulary for the concepts they’re discussing.

He lays back in his chair and resorts to watching the dynamic between the angels instead.

There is a lot to watch.

It takes him nearly the whole time – over two hours of debate – to realize with sudden, striking clarity that Michael is and always will be a leader.

It’s so unexpected, it leaves him blindsided for a moment.

He never gave it much thought. In his mind, Michael had been God’s right hand man, his general, and after God left the building, even the angels who knew were conservative enough to never question Michael’s authority.

The Michael he sees here works with three rebels, one more headstrong than the other and all of them showing it differently, and he still comes out on top.

Oh, it’s subtle. It’s in asking questions, most of it; that’s why it takes Sam so long to notice. But he asks Lucifer when he feigns disinterest, until he’s involved just as much as the others; he asks Gabriel when he strays from the subject with an inopportune quip; he asks Castiel until the other two archangels realize he does have something to contribute, despite being way younger than them. It’s the last that gets to Sam the most; up until now, the air between Michael and Cas was beyond tense, and for good reasons, but right now Michael treats his former underling like an equal. The occasional tightening of his jaw or a sharp look betray the conscious effort behind that, and Sam honestly isn’t sure whether to think less or more of the result because of it, but it’s enough to pull the other two into the same mindset. Because at the end of the day, Michael does have the same unexplicable gravitational pull as Dean, the same charisma: he’s so steadfast in his views that others tend to adopt them, too, for better or for worse.

In the end there’s not much of a result to the discussion other than a handful of ideas worth investigating, summed up by Michael. It’s still the first promising course of action they have if the copied Tablet doesn’t pan out, and the first time all four angels really seem to be on the same page and eager to work together.

When Gabriel switches back to English and announces a LotR/Hobbit marathon in half an hour, all his siblings agree to come without hesitation.

Which proves easier said than done, because there is only one couch and it isn’t nearly as oversized as the TV screen. Gabriel snaps himself an armchair that looks ridiculously comfy, only to be berated by his oldest brother for wasting energy so soon after the ritual; Gabriel makes a strange face as if he wasn’t entirely sure whether to be annoyed or touched, but he complies. That leaves them with the couch that is just about big enough for four if they squeeze, and none of them are exactly eager to do so. Even without Ms. Tran, who decided she prefers her book to the movies, they’re still a few places short.

The humans end up occupying the couch on account of actually needing it to feel comfortable, the Winchesters on either side with Kevin between them. There’s a short half-argument between Cas and Dean which ends up with Cas bringing in a chair from the library so that he can sit next to Dean, because according to the hunter, just standing there would be damn creepy. (Curiously enough, Michael, who elected to stand by a wall at an angle barely good enough to see the movie, doesn’t get any such complaint.)

Places successfully negotiated, they all settle down as Michael turns off the lights and the story begins to unfold, familiar music flowing in from all directions.

That’s when Lucifer walks in, fashionably late, takes in the seating arrangements and comes to sit on the carpet on Sam’s side of the couch, leaning with his back against the arm of it as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sam stops breathing.

He has the Devil sitting by his feet, casual like a teenager at a sleepover with friends, and no amount of staring in the vague direction of the screen can dislodge that fact from his brain.

They aren’t even touching.

They aren’t quite touching, but the space between them is so narrow that Sam can tell Lucifer doesn’t run cold anymore, the shared warmth between them like an invisible bridge connecting two neighbouring countries that aren’t always entirely at peace.

The natural reaction would be to shift further away to make space.

No, that’s not exactly true.

It would have been the natural reaction when Lucifer came to sit down, but Sam missed that chance. Now it would be a statement, and it’s not a statement he wants to make.

For whichever reason.

From the angle he’s at, Sam doesn’t see much of the angel. A shoulder covered with a soft worn T-shirt, the long line of one arm propped up on a bent knee, hand relaxed. (Damn those hands.) The side or his face, illuminated by the changing light from the screen, the occassional glint of an eye.

His hair looks so very soft.

It’s tantalizingly close to Sam’s fingertips.

He really wishes they never had that talk about touch. Because he still remembers how it felt to learn to be touched; to share breath, to have a gentle hand run up his side, playful fingers massaging his scalp. To be taught affection other than a bump of a fist, to be taught closeness that didn’t have to be justified by a nightmare (curling up, trembling like a hunted animal, in Dean’s arms).

Great, and now he’s thinking of Jess. The same Jess he had lost, ultimately, so that the monster sitting by his leg could walk free and wear him like a glove with which to commit a murder.

Except that when he looks at Lucifer now, he can’t bring himself to see a monster.

Neither can he, in all honesty, see the angel, the entity whose glory defied human perception and whose willpower threatened to erase him out of existence. What he sees instead is the man – the being, the person, too alien at times to be human but close enough. He sees the body, the casual cant of hips, the restless hands, the shadow of a knowing smirk on those lips. He sees the person within that body, the endless curiosity, the conviction, the desperation, the hope. He sees the quiet gift-dreams and bits of conversation that stick to his mind like burrs, each provoking with the promise of opening entirely new horizons to him.

It’s like his memories are being rewritten to make space for the Lucifer he’s getting to know now, to give them both the chance. He should be concerned about that, he knows he should; one of these days something will smash through that wall he’s building between the ‘old Lucifer’ and the ’new Lucifer’ and he’ll be left to sort through the rubble, blaming himself for his stupidity.

But not tonight.

Tonight he’s a kid again, shifting every once in a while so that his fingers ‘randomly’ fall closer to Lucifer’s head each time, his heart in his throat and his stomach clenched in excitement, not fear.

There’s a cautionary tale about the Devil and temptation and forbidden things in there somewhere, but surely he can have this, this innocent little experiment he can play off as a joke anytime, or better yet, a chance; he’s human, he can’t sit still like a statue for hours on end, and who can blame him if his hand falls where it shouldn’t while he’s engrossed in his movie?

He has only a very vague idea what is happening in the movie by the time he finally brushes his fingertips against Lucifer’s hair, shallowly like trailing his hand through wheat ears when walking through a field.

Lucifer doesn’t react. At least not as far as Sam can see with his eyes trained on the screen to keep his cover and have an excuse to ‘forget’ his hand where it is. He moves neither away or closer for what must be several minutes; maybe he needs to consciously allow such a fleeting touch to even register?

Sam’s fingers twitch against Lucifer’s hair on their own accord, and it’s just as soft as the look promised, parting like fur to welcome him closer.

Still no reaction. It’s the perfect opportunity to do the reasonable, to draw away and pretend none of it happened.

Screw reasonable.

Not even an idiot would believe Sam’s next touch isn’t a deliberate caress, a short, gentle stroke that ends with his fingertips resting near Lucifer’s temple (on the side where Dean can’t see; he can barely admit what he’s doing to himself, much less to his brother).

He thinks Lucifer’s eyes flick up to him. He’s not sure, because he’s not ready for eye-contact; that would be too much of a challenge in a territory he doesn’t quite want to enter yet.

His fingers twitch again, and then relax against hair and skin as Lucifer shifts, cocks his head just so to elicit another stroke, and Sam takes it as an invitation.

He still has no idea what he’s doing, or where does he want to go with this, if anywhere, but they stay like that for the rest of the movie.

And the next one, after Sam returns from the inevitable break.

And the next.


	17. Chapter 17

There’s a hand in his hair, gentle fingers running short paths along the left side of his head just above his ear.

He has no idea what to think, and even less of an idea what to do.

To say that he didn’t choose his place for the evening with a purpose in mind would be a lie, and he really doesn’t like lies. Especially when the truth is so much more interesting. There are implications to physical closeness between an angel and a vessel. There are different implications to the same between humans. And then there is the thrill of approaching Sam from below his level, of playing at his pride, playing with those meanings. He knew Sam would catch on that, if nothing else. How could he pass up such a delightful opportunity to provoke a reaction out of him?

He definitely didn’t expect to get petted like an overgrown cat.

After more than half an hour of it, he kind of sees why cats allow it.

It’s… nice, yes. The sensation itself – there’s no reason why his hair bending down to its roots with every pass of Sam’s fingers should be so pleasant, but that is exactly what it is. Grounding, too, the repetitive movement serving as a constant reminder than he does, in fact, have a body now (and that it’s not such a bad thing). For some reason it helps him get attuned to his vessel more than his own touch would, and at the same time it makes him really happy he chose to do it. Sure, taste is interesting, and the other sensations: warmth, coldness, even pain, but there is simply something special about touch, about the simple contact of skin on skin (now, apparently, with the addition of hair) that makes it all the more worthwhile.

Yes, Lucifer is quite happy with the petting. Happy enough to move his head every time Sam’s fingers stop for a while, just to gently remind him of his existence, and then settle once the stroking resumes.

Which doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t know what to read into it. He knows it’s not what people usually do for each other, which led him to the idea that maybe it’s a matter of perception and Sam didn’t intend for it to be so nice. Which in turn led to the first few reminders and the conclusion that whether it was the original intention or not, realizing that he’s doing something pleasant for Lucifer doesn’t stop the man from doing it. Seems that his effort to make his former vessel accept him back into his life is paying off in a very unexpected way.

He’s far from complaining.

He’s far from taking it at a face value, either. It’s an unfortunate truth that they started off as enemies, though not by Lucifer’s choice, and that they did unpleasant things to each other. He does believe Sam will one day trust him, maybe even like him, but he also knows that it won’t happen so easily. Whatever is Sam doing, it’s probably a part of some sort of contingency plan.

All the more reason to enjoy it while it lasts, right?

 

They don’t talk about it in the morning. Lucifer didn’t expect anything else. He knows his Winchester. More importantly, he doesn’t mind the challenge. He’ll figure out what it meant without asking for answers.

Eventually.

o.O.o

“Guys… guys, do you have to all stare at me while I do this?“

Before anyone else can react to Kevin Tran’s complaint, Dean smiles brightly and claps the youth on the shoulder. “Sure we do.“

It’s been the prescribed three days since the resurrection and they all gathered in the library to find out whether their Prophet is still the Prophet. Lucifer isn’t sure what to wish for. On one hand, if he is, it will be a sign God approves of their actions so far. Probably. On the other hand, the thought of his Father’s full attention potentially focusing on him whenever the Prophet lays his eyes on him is disconcerting. It’s one thing that God is dimly aware of everything that is happening, and the consequences thereof (or at least that is what he wanted his angels to believe). It’s another thing to be watched so closely. Lucifer has gotten used to the feeling of being forgotten for all eternity. There’s freedom in it. Even if it’s the freedom of a convict who was aready judged, found irredeemable and removed from the world so thoroughly that nothing he does has any meaning.

Now he can act again.

He can be judged again.

He glances at Michael, but Michael is too busy staring at the Prophet, who in turn stopped fidgeting and is staring at the Tablet.

“Okay. I’m definitely reading something,“ he announces after a moment, a little absentmindedly. It’s the last he moves or speaks for several minutes, and then: “Are you kidding me?“

He looks up, first at Michael, then at Lucifer. “No, seriously. Are you making fun of me?“

“What is it?“ asks Dean.

“It’s a recipe.“

“For something against angels?“

“Sure. If angels are mortally allergic to cream cheese, vanilla and sugar. What the hell did you two write in there?“

Gabriel blinks and then grimaces. “The proof that Dad has a sense of humor, I’d say.“

“And that He is watching us very closely,“ Michael adds somberly.

His statement is met with a long uneasy silence. It occurs to Lucifer that for a team that is supposed to be God’s champions in this mess, they aren’t very happy with having God’s attention on them. Only Castiel looks cautiously hopeful, and even he doesn’t seem very sure he should be. It’s fascinating, really. Given the little angel’s short but impressive list of transgressions, it’s a small wonder that he doesn’t look as nervous as the rest of them.

“Is that the only thing that’s there?“ asks Sam.

“No. There are layers beneath this, but it will take me a while to get to them. I swear, if I’m going to spend the next month deciphering a cook book, I’ll murder someone. Are you sure this is a copy of the Angel Tablet?“

“It’s a copy of what we were shown and told it’s the Angel Tablet,“ responds Michael. “But there was always the possibility that we wouldn’t be able to copy what we’ve seen.“

“You’re forgetting the silver lining,“ says Gabriel. “We have a Prophet. How do you feel, kiddo?“

The youth contemplates it for a moment, then shrugs. “Like there’s an oncoming headache if I stare at that thing any longer. Business as usual.“

“Can I take a look at you?“

“Sure.“

Gabriel presses two fingers to the Prophet’s forehead, then grins.

“Looking good. No splat on the horizon.“

The youth gives him a half-hearted glare. “Thanks.“

Gabriel only grins brighter. “Anytime, kiddo.“

That out of the way, the Prophet looks at all of them. “Okay, so do you think you could leave me to it now? I really don’t think I’ll get anything that makes sense sooner than tomorrow, so no use standing around.“

They slowly disperse after that, finding various things to do in the library or elsewhere. Lucifer checks with Michael, but Michael doesn’t seem to be interested in talking. He’s watching the Prophet again, although he’s learned to be less obvious about it within the past few days.

“Hey, Kevin?“ Gabriel calls, sticking his head back into the library.

“Hm?“

“Write down that recipe for me, will ya?“

o.O.o

They work well together, he and his brothers. It’s surprising on several levels, but it’s true. They complement each other: Gabriel and his boundless creativity, Castiel and his unique perspectives, Michael as the voice of caution, and Lucifer as the authority on the Veil. He was always interested in how the Universe works, in planes of existence other than Heaven and in all those folded spaces in between.

There’s a reason he’s good at dreamwalking.

But that’s not what is so strange about this, if you don’t count that little Castiel can keep up with them… for the most part. Nor is it only about the way they tend to forget their differences once they have something better to focus on, even though that is also important, and something Lucifer didn’t believe he’d get to experience again.

No, it’s not about that. It’s what they are working on. There’s no ancient ritual they could dig up and use, no plan, no pre-made options. They are creating something new here, working from scratch. And that’s so different from what he remembers, from being tasked by a Father who knows all the answers. It’s not that God would never ask them to come up with a solution on their own, but they always could go back to him if they weren’t sure – and even if he refused to answer, as he sometimes did, at least they knew their plan isn’t going to end up a complete disaster.

There’s no safety net here, other than their own knowledge and (mainly Michael’s) patience to go through everything that could go wrong.

It’s exhilarating.

It’s also frustrating at times.

“You mean it. You want to leave it up to them.“

“I don’t see any safer option. Souls aren’t only power, they have direction – all the more if they’re organized worldwide, which seems likely at this point. There must be millions of them in the Veil by now. That’s too many for us to steer.“ Castiel’s conviction has the weight of experience behind it. “I also believe that they will cooperate willingly and much more effectively if we give them the choice. It’s their right to go to Heaven.“

“What if they don’t want to?“ asks Gabriel off-handedly and tosses the coin he’s been playing with non-stop for more than an hour. Lucifer is severely tempted to snatch it from the air at the next toss.

Michael frowns at him. “Why wouldn’t they?“

Gabriel catches the coin and leans towards their oldest brother, elbows on the table between them.

“Because Heaven is boring, big bro. These people, they are doing their own thing. You heard the kid. Common spaces, everything they can imagine. Humans are social creatures, Michael, almost as much as we are, and they get bored way easier than we do. I don’t think these guys will be too happy with your neat little coop. Come to think of it, have you considered the chaos that a few adventurous self-aware souls will cause in your precious system? Because I’d bet you anything there will be more than a few.“

And round and round it goes.

They finish that session when Dean ambles into the library at four in the morning, gives them a bleary look and, with a somewhat passable attempt at civility, requests a batch of Lucifer’s extra strong coffee.

They are now reasonably sure it’s possible to break down the barrier between the Veil and Heaven with the resources they have at hand. If the souls cooperate, that is.

They still aren’t sure it’s possible to do it without the event destroying the Universe in the long run, but at least they are now at the stage of considering long run and not hours and days. Which means their painstakingly built plan is now about as risky as doing nothing.

Ah well.

o.O.o

Father likes to keep them on their toes, apparently. After two days of hard work, all the Prophet was able to find in the Tablet besides the cheesecake recipe are some passages he had translated before and fragments that don’t make any sense. He asks them for clarification of those parts, but it’s as if he was trying to point to a scene in a book by jabbing his finger at the cover.

Michael, of course, takes it as admonishment and admits how much guesswork went into the creation of their version of the Word of God.

The Prophet grimaces, says, “Great“, thinks for a while and then asks them to create every other version that seemed likely to them – not because one of them could be right, but because he hopes he will put together the true Word by comparing them. Even Lucifer must admire that level of dedication.

They get to work on those other versions, he and Michael.

Gabriel bakes the cake.

It tastes good.

o.O.o

They fall into an easy rhythm, very quickly. Developing their plans for breaking into Heaven at night, breakfast, work on the Tablet versions, lunch, discussing other plans and everything potentially useful with the Prophet and the hunters, supper. If they didn’t have to expect Metatron’s move anytime, it would be almost nice.

They could have another movie night.

But there are other opportunities to explore whatever it was that happened then. It’s not so hard to catch Sam staring at his hands once he notices the first time and starts paying attention. He begins to use them even more, meaningless little gestures designed to give Sam something to look at.

After a few days, he uses an opportunity to touch, just a brush of finger against finger when he leans closer to look into a passage in a book Sam is showing to him. A soft intake of breath is his reward, even though Sam withdraws his hand as if the simple sensation was too much.

He doesn’t start to avoid Lucifer. If anything, he seeks him out, pushing subtly into his space. There are a few more seemingly accidental fleeting touches. Lucifer doesn’t initiate all of them. Or maybe Sam is just very good at meeting him halfway.

It’s not enough.

Lucifer finds himself craving more, wanting to sit Sam down and explore him as thoroughly as he explored himself, the glide of skin, the texture of hair, the various areas where touch seems different; the give of muscle and the resistance of sinew and the hardness of bone beneath. It’s startlingly new, that need to discover what a human body, truly a human body, allows, what it reads as pleasant, instead of how it breaks.

But then, this is Sam, the one man with the ability to pull him onto unexpected paths, and make the momentary loss of control worth it in the end.

He gives in to the temptation to recreate something of that movie night once, trails his fingers through the curtain of hair at the nape of Sam’s neck to sweep them across the skin beneath as he’s passing his chair. Sam flinches so hard he crumples the page he was reading and gives him a bewildered look, then quickly checks if nobody saw them. Then he gives him another, more pointed look and returns to his research, his cheeks flushing pink.

That was probably too much, then.

o.O.o

It comes as a bit of a surprise when Castiel follows him the next morning when he wants to go grab a shower between their planning session and meeting up with Michael again.

Seems this won’t be a morning for simple pleasures.

Or for pretending to be fine together. The way Castiel looks at him when Lucifer turns and acknowledges his presence with a raised eyebrow, he wonders if he should be prepared for a blade between the ribs. It makes him think back on everything he’s done recently, but honestly he can’t come up with anything that would set his little brother off now.

“You claim your current vessel was given to you by God. You say it holds you perfectly.“

Castiel sounds as if he had some secret proof that that isn’t the case, the little brat, and Lucifer has to remind himself it could be too dangerous under the circumstances to simply brush him off. Or at least inconvenient. Definitely safer to play nice.

“Yes?“ he offers.

“Then why are you circling Sam Winchester again?“

He narrows his eyes, itching to remind the seraph that he is a bit too young to make unfounded accusations, but he keeps himself in check.

“Why do you ask?“

“Sam is my friend. You have done enough to him. Leave him be.“

So earnest. So determined. So stupid, in a way that is both infuriating and endearing.

“Always so protective, Castiel. Does he know about it? Or is the reason you chose to stand against me rather than take it up with him that you know he wouldn’t be happy with you?“

Going by the way his little brother narrows his eyes at him, fumes and refuses to answer, he hit the mark. That’s good. He’s not the only one whose concern is unwelcome, then. But Castiel, bull-headed, trusted Castiel is still an issue. Not to mention Lucifer has a weak spot for loyalty. Specifically, loyalty to those he cares about. He can forgive a lot for that.

“I’m not trying to make Sam my vessel again. I can promise you that.“

“Then what are you trying to do?“

Which is a surprisingly good question. Get closer, definitely, but how exactly, and to what end?

“Maybe I just want a friend?“ he suggests, not really expecting Castiel to believe him.

But Castiel’s only comment is: “That would be difficult. You were the worst enemy he’s ever had.“

That stings, a little, even though at least it means he’s important.

“Not by my choice,“ he gently reminds the seraph.

“That’s not true. You made that choice at the very beginning. You chose to be the enemy of humanity. That includes Sam Winchester.“

Alright, that stings a bit more.

“Perhaps I learned to make exceptions,“ he replies a touch sharper.

“That’s not good enough.“

“Don’t test my patience, little brother.“

“It’s not enough if you want to be his friend,“ Castiel plows on, oblivious to Lucifer’s warning tone. “Sam is a hunter. He protects people, deserving _and_ undeserving, against everything that threatens them. He sacrificed himself to protect humanity against you. Do you think he’ll be satisfied with being an exception?“

And Lucifer finds he doesn’t have anything to say to that.

“If you want to be his friend,“ Castiel continues, less urgent now, “he needs to trust you. Not only that you won’t attack him or those he cares about, but with people in general. If you want this, you can’t remain the Adversary.“

Castiel stares at him. What for, Lucifer isn’t sure. Maybe for a reaction he can’t give. But eventually the seraph decides that the silence was long enough and moves to walk past him. Lucifer’s thoughts unfreeze with that.

“Castiel,“ he calls.

The seraph turns. “Yes?“

“You said it would be difficult. To become Sam’s friend. Not impossible.“ And wasn’t that the strangest part, the lack of that particular judgment.

Castiel regards him for a little while, and then his expression softens. “I went through a lot with Sam and Dean. If they taught me anything, it’s that everyone makes mistakes – and everyone deserves a second chance. If they really want it.“

The last is delivered with a pointed look, an undercurrent of warning which makes more sense than the rest of the talk, and Lucifer sketches a nod in acknowledgment of that rather than everything else he can’t process yet.

Castiel leaves it at that. Lucifer stares after him for a while, then takes a breath, pushes the thoughts as deep as they would go and goes to work on the Tablet, because they have a war to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the first scene, thank metaphysic, whose feedback not only confirmed for me that it’s about time to switch to Lucifer’s POV for a bit, but also gave me the idea to start right there where I left off at the end of the previous chapter. And there were others whose comments only supported it. (Sometimes it pays off to be a feedback junkie who can’t bring herself to create a buffer, apparently.) Thank you, guys!
> 
> What I’m extra curious about after this chapter: How do you perceive Lucifer in it? Mainly, does he know what he’s doing? And if he doesn’t, is he still responsible for it, and to what extent? Bonus question for the bold and those who don’t think he went too far: Where do you think Lucifer went with the exploration of his body in the privacy of his room? ;)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many amazing comments last chapter! And I have a beta now? Maybe? We’re still figuring stuff out. :) This chapter is still mostly unbetaed, but there might be some corrections later.  
> Sorry for the lateness, folks. As an apology/bonus, there is now a brand new little [oneshot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4220565) you might enjoy. It didn’t fit into this timeline, but it’s an idea I carried around for years. (Yes, why, I'm a master of thinly veiled shameless self-promotion. Sorry?)

It’s probably about time Sam admitted he has no clue what he’s doing.

Not that there is all that much ‘doing’ involved. A brush of fingertips here, brief eye contact across the room there, some standing too close, and then swallowing the thrill of it and keeping a straight face when Lucifer responds in kind and raises the stakes just a little bit higher.

He’s never felt more alive. He’s never felt this way about a person, every nerve coming alight with expectation whenever Lucifer so much as steps into the same room. It’s an adrenaline high, plain and simple, and he's loving every second of it. It’s enough, every damn time, to let him forget all reason and push further, risk a little bit more, see how the other man (except he’s not really a man, is he?) will react to the newest challenge.

It’s a freefall into yet another addiction. He knows that, he’s been there. Except that this time he doesn’t even have anything to justify it with. There’s no world to save, no revenge, no people to safely free from possession.

It’s just the one thing that makes him want to get up in the morning.

It’s that simple. That selfish. And it should be so easy to stop. He sees all the warning signs, he knows he’s spiralling into insanity, he _knows Lucifer_. There’s no better forewarning than spending a small eternity in the Cage with the angel, even if he remembers only glimpses of it. And if that wasn’t enough, his whole life is lesson after lesson that every time, every single time he dares to choose something for himself, he screws someone over.

Sometimes the whole world.

But there’s a part of him that still rages against the injustice of it all. One small stubborn part that insists against all odds that this time will be better, this time he will surely catch a break and it will all turn out for the best.

Of course it won’t.

He should stop this madness, he really should. It’s not as if he didn’t have anything else to live for. His brother is safe and healthy and no longer at risk of slipping into murderous rage, Cas is doing well, Kevin is back; he has his research and allies and a hope that they’ll somehow solve the latest crisis together. Honestly, his life doesn’t get better than that. He shouldn’t want more, he definitely shouldn’t risk it all for whatever this is, this dance of push and pull between him and Lucifer.

But then Lucifer enters the room and his body comes alive, his senses sharpen, his every thought fixes on the angel, and all he can do is to challenge and respond and find out how close he can come to the point of no return before one of them gives in to the insanity.

o.O.o

Ms. Tran leaves first. After spending more than a week following Kevin around like a guard dog, she suddenly announces she needs to return to work. They talk it out, but they all cave in to her argument that if Metatron keeps an eye on her, he will know something is up if she stays too long. Of course, if he doesn’t (and he would hardly feel threatened by a ghost, would he?), she’ll be safe.

There is probably a flaw somewhere in that line of thinking, but it somehow never comes up. She can’t do anything for the mission and she isn’t a woman who deals with uselessness easily, which means that she’d soon drive them up the wall like a mother-in-law who overstayed her welcome. An admired, well-liked mother-in-law, but still. So she packs her things, cooks them all a breakfast she likes, eats with them, glares them into doing the dishes and goes to get her luggage.

They all gather in the hall to see her out. She appears soon enough, her head held high, her decent-sized suitcase rolling with a rumble over the cement floor behind her.

She stops at the foot of the stairs and turns to face them, her grip on the suitcase’s handle white-knuckled, until Kevin gives in and steps forward to hug her tightly. She murmurs something just for him to hear, then reluctantly releases him.

“You will protect him this time,” she informs them firmly, as if she could threaten them into doing a better job. As if she needed to threaten them into doing a better job. Dean next to Sam twitches uncomfortably. Sam isn’t any better off.

“I will,” Michael declares.

It definitely doesn’t sound like an empty reassurance, and that’s enough to draw everyone’s attention. It takes him a moment to realize they are all staring at him.

“As I said, it’s my duty. I intend to fulfill it.“

“No, it isn’t,“ Lucifer returns easily from where he is lurking at the back of the group, his hands in his pockets and a strange little smirk curling up the corners of his mouth. “We aren’t archangels anymore.“

“It doesn’t matter. We are still among the most capable angels in Creation at the moment. I know you haven’t missed that fact.“ The look he gives Lucifer is pointed, but his tone is too mild for a reproach.

Lucifer’s lips twitch in amusement, his expression softening just a fraction.

“It’s something I can do,“ Michael continues just for him. “So I will.“

Lucifer shrugs with one shoulder, looking strangely pleased with himself as if they just finished a conversation they had before in a way that suits him, and doesn’t protest. Sam nearly laughs when it occurs to him that he just witnessed a case of the Devil playing Devil’s advocate.

“Do I have any say in this?“ Kevin interrupts.

Going by the bewildered look Michael gives him, he clearly didn’t expect an objection.

“That would be… unusual. Don’t you want to be safe?“

“Safe, yes. Watched 24/7? Not so much.“

Michael stares at him for several seconds, clearly at a loss, until Dean unexpectedly comes to his rescue:

“It’s okay, Kev. He doesn’t have to actually be there to keep an eye on you. The Prophet before you, Chuck, used to have Raphael at his ass and he only came down when Chuck was in danger.“

“Which will be difficult to replicate without Heaven’s power at our disposal,“ Michael says, regaining some of his balance. “But yes. It will be better for everyone if I don’t have to follow you around.“

Kevin measures him somewhat dubiously, but after a moment he relents. “Okay. Good. We’ll talk about it.“

To Ms. Tran’s credit, she doesn’t try to convince her son to let Michael watch him as closely as possible, but she does thank the angel before she leaves.

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with that, either.

o.O.o

This time, Lucifer trails Michael directly, not bothering with detours when he has something more interesting at hand.

“You simply had to announce it in front of him, hadn’t you?“ he asks with a wry smirk the moment they are alone in the study.

“I wasn’t originally planning to,“ Michael responds, already on his way to their third attempt at the Tablet, close to finished now. “But it’s not as if it was possible to keep it a secret from Him. I do intend to watch over the Prophet. He’d know.“

Lucifer hums his agreement and comes closer.

“So the question is, why would you do it at all?“

“Because somebody has to.“

Lucifer’s lips curl up in irony. “Really?“

It’s about as far as he dares to push Michael on the matter, and considering how Michael’s expression grows hard, it’s good he didn’t pry further.

“It’s not about him housing God – if he still does. Father must have other ways how to make a Prophet. But we always knew Prophets are important, a way for His Word to reach humanity. Protecting them was one of Father’s last commands before He left. And look what happened.“

“You got locked up with me and Raphael and Gabriel were dead, that’s what happened. A pity for the boy, but not your fault.“

“Are you so sure? It’s not so difficult to figure out that it’s the principle that matters, Lucifer. In the absence of the archangels, someone else should have been assigned the duty, or take it on themselves. Nobody did, not even in the calmer times between the war in Heaven and the Fall. Our siblings either didn’t bother to think, or simply didn’t bother. And that _is_ my fault. I was their leader, it was my responsibility to make sure Heaven wouldn’t fall into disorder without me.“

Lucifer shrugs. “In your defense, you knew you’ll be around until the Apocalypse, and afterwards it shouldn’t have mattered.“

Michael’s piercing gaze pins him to the spot.

“Did you intend to wipe out the Host if you won?“

Even after everything they’d done and said to each other, that question still stings.

“Of course not,” Lucifer replies indignantly. “They are my siblings.“

“Then all Heaven would have lost is the Earth. It still would have needed to function without me. And I failed to prepare them for the possibility.“

Lucifer smirks. “As if you believed for a second you could lose.“

“And I was wrong about that, too.“

Lucifer takes a startled breath. There are many things they haven’t talked about since they both calmed down enough to stop hurling the worst they could at each other, back in the Cage. They haven’t as much resolved their differences as decided – without ever talking about that, either – that their disagreements aren’t worth breaking the tentatively emerging peace between them. But their past is still there, no matter how deep buried, like low, simmering fires of a temporarily appeased volcano, and every once in a while a careless remark (sometimes his own) reminds him how uncertain is the ground they’re walking.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust his brother. He does. They’ve learned their lesson, both of them. There’s no force in Heaven, Earth or Hell that could make him turn on Michael now that he has him back, and he knows Michael shares the sentiment. But there are still questions he has, answers he needs, and if Michael started it, if Michael implied-

He lets the breath out and bites back the question that wants to come with it. It burns his throat like acid on its way down, a proof in itself that there was no way it could have come out as anything else than an accusation.

“Do you like beating yourself over things you can’t change anymore?“ he asks instead and tenses at the venom in his own voice. Seems he didn’t swallow it as well as he thought.

Michael freezes in turn, for just a second, and then his wings – when did he start to keep them hidden as well? – flare out in anger and challenge.

“And you, do you like this? Being reduced to this, _helping out_ instead of leading, circling the man who should have been yours like a cat hungry for scraps?“

“I can still have him,“ he replies, affronted, and then pauses, because he means it, somehow.

“Why would you?“ Michael asks, but it hardly registers. “You don’t need him! Are you really so prideful that you wouldn’t take the gift of the vessel Father gave you-“

And then he trails off when he sees nothing he says has any effect on Lucifer. There’s a brief silence, filled with Michael watching him, frustrated anger making way to concern, and Lucifer feeling more than a little confused and lost.

“What is it, brother?“ Michael’s tone is soft as if they weren’t on the edge of an argument just a moment before.

“I don’t want him as a vessel, Michael,“ he says slowly, tasting the words. They feel true, truer than he would have thought they could. It’s not ‘I’ve resigned myself to never feel that oneness again‘, not anymore, it’s ‘It was glorious to have him but it’s not what I want now’.

Michael frowns. “Why do you say you can still have him, then? Why do you try?“

“Because I want…“ But he can’t finish. Not because he would refuse to name the feeling, but because he genuinely doesn’t have a name for it. For looking at the shape of Sam’s smile, for walking the strangely twisting ways of their conversations, for feeding the spark of challenge in his eyes, in the line of his shoulders and hips, and _wanting_ , fiercely. For needing to have him whole, and not in the meaning of having all of him, making him just a part of himself, but for keeping him whole and safe and sound, for getting to experience all that Sam Winchester is when he’s free, coming to him not because of a destiny written for him but because he chooses to.

“I want something else,“ he finishes lamely, helpless. And he releases his wings, aligns them with Michael’s, and lets his brother just exist with him until the confusion fades.

It’s only much later, when they’re almost finished with their work for the day, that he realizes he does have a word, maybe, because the way he settles when Sam accepts him is very similar to how everything felt right, back at the beginning, with Michael at his side, and Raphael and Gabriel to complete them, and his Father’s presence felt by all of them so that the whole Universe seemed warm. Similar to what he still experiences now, when Michael lets him in despite their past.

But the flavor of it is different, and how could he feel anything like that towards a human, when what he could experience of his siblings was all they were and what he can experience of Sam is how the soul translates into flesh? (Except that he got to experience Sam’s soul just as close once, didn’t he? But could the battle they fought count towards closeness, or could that be something he found later when he took the man apart, layer by layer, until the soul was spread thin and full of holes and still impossibly containing infinity in every shred? And isn’t that the opposite of what he wants now, to mend, to cherish? How is he supposed to make sense of all that?)

Peripherally, he notices Michael’s worried glance, and he shakes his head and focuses back on the Word they’re trying to transfer into clay.

Whatever it is, that strange new feeling – a set of feelings, really – he’ll have time to decipher it later.

o.O.o

Castiel leaves second. It has something to do with the big plan the angels have cooked during the nights. They want to involve the souls in the Veil, but apparently, as a space that is neither Earth nor Heaven, it’s not easily accessible to a normal angel, as it tends to expel them to one plane or another. Unlike the carefully arranged Heaven it would also be too confusing to a freshly killed human, so a temporary death is not worth the risk. That makes Lucifer the only one with the skill to get there, and even he isn’t sure he would be able to take on a form the human souls could handle. Not to mention how great it would probably work out if he introduced himself and then tried to convince anyone to break into Heaven. Cas promises to ask some of the reapers in his ranks, claims he never intended to stay for long anyway.

Which is a pity, and not only because of Dean. It’s as if they both could breathe easier when Cas is there, because suddenly they aren’t so tightly wound in an orbit around each other. As if they didn’t notice how much effort it takes for the two of them to keep any sort of balance until Cas provides the third point and allows them to rest part of the weight on him.

But Cas has his own life, and he’s put off returning to his lost siblings for long enough, and it’s not exactly fair to lay any of their troubles on him anyway. Which is why it comes as a surprise when the evening before he’s supposed to leave, there’s a knock on Sam’s door, and Cas enters.

He sits on a chair, a little awkwardly as if he still had to remind himself that it’s expected of him in those kinds of situations, and that in itself is enough to tell Sam that whatever he came to talk about, it’s going to be quite personal.

“What’s up, Cas?“

Cas doesn’t, in fact, look up. Instead he looks straight at Sam and asks, in that grave, patient tone of his: “You and Lucifer. Do you know what you’re doing?“

Sam freezes, just for an instant, and then a strange sense of relief floods him, because it’s Cas, not Dean, who caught wind of it first, and the lack of judgment is refreshing.

Except that the most honest answer would be ‘Not really’, and that wouldn’t go over well with anybody, not even Cas. (But isn’t it sort of the point, to admit it to someone, to let someone talk him out of the madness?)

He shakes his head and opts for the closest half-truth, because he doesn’t want to lie but he doesn’t want to tell the truth and lose the thrill, either.

“It’s just a way to pass the time, Cas. We’re… figuring out where we stand, I guess. It doesn’t change anything.“

“It’s dangerous.“

“Not any more than having him here. It’s not as if I trust him, believe me.“

“I mean besides the obvious,“ Castiel says and pauses for just an instant, in that way he has when he’s about to try to explain something that doesn’t translate well to human terms. “Humans and angels experience emotion differently, Sam. It can be very difficult to understand each other. And Lucifer is- Lucifer used to be the brightest of the angels, the most intense. He will take everything you give him, and I’m not sure he won’t try to take more. Be careful with what you give.“

Sam nods, slowly. That’s an angle he hasn’t considered, but at the same time it doesn’t sound like something that applies to their situation. He’s pretty sure that they’re evenly matched, him and Lucifer, both claiming pieces of each other, personal space and attention and sanity. It doesn’t feel like giving, it feels like a sparring match, playful with an intoxicating edge of danger.

“I’ll be careful,“ he promises, because he is. Mostly. As much as he can. “Thanks, Cas.“

Cas tilts his head and dutifully replies: “Don’t mention it.“

Sam gives him a smile, and hopes he didn’t lie too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you like to know how it looks when someone can sum up in one short poem what I need a few thousand words for? Check out keelahselai’s [“et lingua eius loquetur iudicium“](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3984931)
> 
> A fair warning: The next chapter, known so far only as The One Where Shit Hits The Fan, is most likely going to be huge and therefore late. But I’ll do everything I can to have it out before 13th July, because that’s the day I’m returning to work from parental leave. I have no idea how my update schedule will look after that. It could be better, it could be worse, I don’t know. Wish me luck?


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, folks, my inability to estimate how many words I need to get from point A to point B strikes again. So, this is a shorter chapter… which means it’s the first scene of the five or six I originally planned to have in it. What can I say, it grew on me.
> 
> WARNING for a short but rough spot of violence in this chapter, very briefly described panic attack and physical injury.
> 
> Another warning for playing VERY fast and loose with the mythology of Abrahamic religions. (I probably had way more fun with that than I should have and I'm not even sorry.)

“Guys? Guys, I think I have something.”

Kevin, where he’s sitting surrounded by the three Tablets and piles of notes, looks like death warmed over, which means his existence now finally matches how he usually looks in full Prophet mode. He doesn’t even seem particularly excited, just relieved that his work might finally have some results. It’s been almost a week since Cas left and they’re all becoming more and more nervous, very well aware they’re in a race without being able to tell how far ahead is their opponent.

It takes them a few minutes to gather around him, time Kevin uses to devour the sandwich that was sitting at his elbow for more than two hours and drink something else than coffee. When Gabriel finally saunters in, he wipes his mouth and says:

“So, first things first: This is not the Angel Tablet. Not the one I translated before, anyway. I think it’s some sort of a first draft, with lots of stuff that didn’t make it into the final version. So, if the spell to reopen Heaven exists, it’s somewhere in there. The bad news is that the extra bits are scattered all over these,“ he gestures to the three partial Tablets. “Not fun. But I think I have something. Not the counterspell, but I think I know where Metatron’s superpowers come from.“

Dean frowns. “You mean he’s not powering himself by the Tablet?“

“Not really. The Tablet is a part of it, but it’s not the source. The source is Heaven.“

Dean shakes his head, just a twitch to dismiss the details. “Okay, but he needs the Tablet for it to work, right?“

Kevin shrugs. “Maybe. He definitely needed it to establish the connection, but I’m not sure if he needs it to keep it. Or reestablish it every time. I’ll check that out later, but there’s more. The bits I got before, the ones that weren’t in the real Tablet, they’re less about angels and more about how everything works. And it seems that it’s not only that angels are powered by Heaven, but also the other way around. Heaven itself is weakened without the angels in it. As in, it’s… fabric? Essence?“ He glances at the angels, but when they don’t immediately come up with a better suggestion, he moves past with a: “Something like that. Either way, if I read it right, Metatron is using some sort of spell that is meant to let an angel temporarily get almost godlike, but the strain it puts on Heaven is huge. The spell is supposed to be supported by loads of other angels, maybe even the entire Host – before all the recent wars, not after – otherwise it’s directly weakening Heaven. So, chances are Metatron can use his powers only in very short bursts. Of course, that ‘short burst’ can still be at least hours. It doesn’t exactly come with an equation for calculating input/output.“

“So he can’t afford to fight us without cutting the branch he’s sitting on,“ Dean sums up.

Gabriel grimaces. “Or you could say we can’t afford to fight him for long if we don’t want him to burn some impressive holes through Heaven. Don’t forget he’s a self-entitled douchenozzle. With his hide on the line? He will use every last bit of power he can.“ He turns back to Kevin. “Is there anything that would say how bad it could get?“

Kevin gives an apologetic shrug. “Far as I could tell, complete destruction.“

There is a few seconds when they let that sink in. Sam can’t help a glance at Lucifer, but he appears just as startled and then grim as the other two angels.

“So we either need to get a jump on him, or break the connection before he can take the entire Heaven with him,“ concludes Dean. “Great.“

“Yeah, and it’s anybody’s guess how long the Universe would hold together without Heaven,“ adds Gabriel.

“Um… About that…“ Kevin outright fidgets under the scrutiny of the angels. “Sorry, guys, but it looks like the answer might be ‘forever’.”

“What do you mean?“ Michael’s voice is sharp and Kevin quickly backpedals.

“I’m not sure, okay? But there are hints that Heaven is kind of a separate entity. Something about it being possible to take Heaven out of the order of things, and some other stuff? I didn’t have a reason to look into it further before this. I’ll check it.“

“That’s what happened in Zachariah’s future.“ Dean is frowning; he’s always frowning when he has to talk about that. “The angels gave up on Earth, closed Heaven for business? The Cas there lost his powers because of it.“

“That’s not the same as Heaven being destroyed,” says Michael, stone-faced even more than usual.

Sam’s brows furrow, some things starting to click.

“No, but it makes sense. Have you ever wondered why the spell to make all the angels Fall even exists? As in, why give someone that power? Why give an angel the chance to expel all other angels if it apparently means weakening Heaven itself? And how come most angels landed on the continents?“

He can see the moment Dean catches on. “You mean it’s some sort of a botched evacuation plan. The ship’s sinking, everybody out?“

“Exactly.“

Dean makes a face. “That’s-“

“-a completely pointless conversation, because we’re not letting Metatron destroy Heaven,“ Lucifer jumps in. His tone is perfectly civil, a slight smile playing about his lips, but the air is suddenly colder as if a ghost passed between them.

Gabriel seems to be the only one of them not frozen to the spot, though he’s completely serious for once.

“Hate to agree with him, but I agree with him.“

“Yeah,“ Dean says slowly, looking between them. “We want the angels back up there, all they do around here is make trouble.“ He gives Lucifer a pointed glare. “You can cut the theatrics.“

Lucifer shrugs innocently. The temperature begins to climb up to normal.

“As you said,“ Michael nods to Dean, returning them to the problem at hand. “We need to take Metatron by surprise or cut the enhanced connection between him and Heaven before we confront him. And we need to do it before he can recruit more of our siblings, because with each new one he will be able to use his current powers more safely, for a longer period of time. Kevin, if you can, focus on how exactly is the connection established.“

Kevin gives him a strange look – as far as Sam knows, it’s the first time Michael addressed him like that – but nods.

“Until then, I suggest we plan an ambush.”

“Yeah. We need to get him down here, and we need him to let his guard down-” Dean’s phone rings. He gives them an apologetic glance and fishes it out of his pocket. Frowning, he angles it a bit to show Sam the unknown number flashing on the screen, and then accepts the call.

“Who is this?“

The reply is short, but it makes Dean’s mouth tighten.

“Depends on who’s asking.“

This time, the person at the other end of the call talks slightly longer. Dean blanches and grips the phone tighter. The angels all tense; they must have heard what was said.

“What happened?“

The explanation isn’t too long, but whatever are the bad news to begin with, it makes Dean angry on top of them. His eyes flicker to Michael before he responds:

“Whoa there, sister. I don’t know you. I’m not telling you squat before I know I can trust you.“

The indistinct voice of the caller gets more urgent at that, but it’s still too quiet for Sam to pick up more than a few words: “Castiel… We… Please… must meet… only chance… Metatron now.“ And then something else, even quieter.

It makes Dean consider it for a second.

“This number yours?“

The caller must reply in the affirmative, because he continues: “Alright, listen. Hang up, get out of wherever you are. Keep your head down, never make a long call. I’ll call you in an hour.“

Apparently, the person on the other end does exactly that. Dean lets the phone drop down from his ear. He hesitates just a moment, as if relating the news would somehow make them more real. And Sam knows his brother, can glimpse the panic behind the straight face, in the way he seeks out his eyes as if he needed the contact to anchor himself. He’s just about to prompt Dean to speak when he does.

“Metatron took Cas.“

Sam knew to expect something bad (and with their luck, he should be grateful Cas isn’t confirmed dead), but he still freezes.

“How? What happened?“ he asks, uncaring that he echoes Dean’s question from before. “Who was it?“

“Some Hannah chick. She says she was Cas’s second-in-command. Metatron somehow managed to contact all the angels in their HQ, told them Cas is working with Lucifer, and apparently that was enough to turn them against him. Damn Cas for always trusting the wrong guys.“

Sam takes a breath, casting around for something he could say.

“He won’t kill him,“ Michael interjects, certain and perfectly calm. “Castiel has far too much information for that.“

“So he’ll torture him,“ Dean snaps. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?“

Michael doesn’t even flinch, focusing his full attention on the older Winchester. “Castiel has a strong will, Dean. It gives us time and that is what we need most under the circumstances.“

“This Hannah,“ Sam interrupts before they can argue further. “Do you remember her? Is she trustworthy?“

Michael considers it for a moment.

“Hannah is… unremarkable. A good, steadfast soldier, more focused on upholding peace and order in the ranks than on achievements. She wouldn’t be my choice of a second-in-command, especially in a crisis. But then,“ one corner of his mouth curls up in a rare show of amusement, “I would have told you almost the same about Castiel, before he turned out to be the one with the skill and determination to reach the Righteous Man in Hell.“

“In other words, you don’t know your little siblings all that well,“ Dean concludes, unimpressed.

Michael studies him for a while. When he responds, it’s with a calmness Sam isn’t sure how to read, but it reminds him too much of Lucifer’s trademark deceptively mild tone.

“I used to have thousands of younger siblings before the Apocalypse and all the wars that followed. I could tell you the name, major skills and accomplishments of all of them. It was enough.“

“Well, I had only two brothers and I lost one of them to you, you utter _dick_.“

Michael narrows his eyes, the rest of his face suddenly, terrifyingly blank.

“Guys-“ Gabriel tries to stop the fight before it can break out, but it’s too late.

“If you fulfilled your duty as you should have-“

“Fuck you and your duty! My duty was to protect my brother and my planet, you bastard!“

Sam is already stepping between them, moving on autopilot, when there is a sharp, distinct sound of a finger snap.

Dean chokes. There is something that looks like cotton balls coming out of his mouth, his eyes bugging out, and Sam freezes for just a second as ice-cold panic washes over him. Later, maybe, he will be able to explain the lightning quick thought process of Dean dying – Tuesdays – the Trickster, but the next thing he knows he’s pushing Gabriel against a wall, reaching for the angel sword tucked in his jacket and snarling into his face to bring Dean back, because this time he has him right there, this time he knows what works on him-

He even sees the punch coming, immediately after the Trickster’s surprise shifts into gratifying terror at the glint of the blade. He’s too slow to block it, too focused on the offensive.

It’s like getting hit by a train at full speed. He’s flying backwards, stunned, ears full of the sickening crunch of his own ribs, and it’s not before he clears a table in his path and lands on his back on the ground behind it that the pain registers.

And oh, does it register. He cannot breathe, can barely stay conscious, and he knows it’s bad, worse than just having the wind knocked out of him, worse than just having a cracked rib or two, because he’s familiar with both and this isn’t it. This feels as if Gabriel punched a hole through his ribcage and stopped only shy of his spine, making bloody mess of everything inbetween.

He’s distantly aware of some commotion among the others, alarmed voices muffled by the white noise in his ears. Dean, running for him and yelling something – no cotton balls, huh – and then Lucifer is there, looking bemused, then concerned, and when he next blinks with heavy eyelids, something touches his forehead.

His pain washes away and he’s not sure whether it’s because he’s being healed or dying.

But then there are hands on him, squeezing and checking for injuries, and he’s pretty certain that “Hey! You with us? Sammy!“ isn’t the first thing he’d hear after death, so he opens his eyes.

“’m fine,“ he mumbles reflexively, trying to give himself time to make sense of the situation. “I’m fine, Dean.“

Which is, of course, followed by Dean trying to help him sit, and he submits to it without second thought, too occupied with everything else.

Wasn’t Dean dead? He saw him, didn’t he, dying yet another ridiculous death? He tried to stop the Trickster-

Huh.

“What happened?“

“You tell me. You and Gabriel both flipped.“

“Gabriel tried to silence us both with candy,“ Michael says matter-of-factly from where he still stands somewhere near the archangel. “You attacked him for it and he overreacted in defending himself, injuring you.“

“Killing you, in fact, if I didn’t get to you in time,“ Lucifer amends and stands from where he was crouching at Sam’s side. “Gabriel.“

Only that, one word, and he doesn’t even turn to his younger brother, but that tone isn’t something Sam wants to have aimed at him, ever.

“Yeah, sorry for developing an allergy to being stabbed with an angel blade! Where do you think that comes from?“

“I wasn’t-“ He’s quite sure he was only going to threaten him with one, because- Oh. Shit. “You weren’t killing Dean, were you?“

“What? No! I-“ There’s a very short pause, and then softer: “Damn.“

They lapse into a very awkward silence.

“Sorry, kiddo. I was just trying to get them to shut up.“

Sam didn’t think he’ll ever hear Gabriel sound so honestly contrite.

Or come so close to apologizing for what made Sam overreact in the first place. He casts about for something to say to properly acknowledge it, but the best he can come up in the end is: “I get it.“ Because it isn’t nothing, it will never be nothing. They wouldn’t have this conversation if it was, but he does get it. Mostly. Enough to want them to move past it. “Sorry for drawing on you.“

“’s okay. Wasn’t you who deserved that punch.“

Sam shakes his head, because it isn’t his place to try to untangle this can of worms, and decides to change the topic.

“Candy? What did you do?“

Dean answers before Gabriel can, looking exaggeratedly disgruntled: “Stuffed our mouths full of freaking marshmallows.“

Sam can’t help the unmanly giggle that escapes him at that, soon followed by more, and before he knows it he’s laughing, unable to stop. Lucifer stares at him as if he itched to check his brain for serious damage, and it only makes him laugh harder.

It may be just the nerves, but what the heck, he nearly died for a misunderstanding over a handful of marshmallows. Even for a Winchester, that’s too fucked up to _not_ be funny.


	20. Chapter 20

It takes them all a while to calm down and return to discussing what to do with Hannah. It’s clear they have to meet her; the trick is to come up with a place that will make it hard for her to set a trap, but safe for her if she is honest. They don’t even know the full extent of Metatron’s powers, they don’t know if and how he can track her, or them once they leave the Bunker.

“So, Gabriel goes first, sets up a safehouse. Then me and Sam, we pick Hannah up along the road and, if she’s legit, get her there. If she still wants to talk to you, you can fly there,“ Dean sums up after a rather long discussion, checking with Michael.

“You can’t go alone,“ Lucifer objects immediately.

“Like hell we can’t,“ Dean retorts, his tone too dismissive to be really heated. “What do you think we did until any of you showed up? We can hold our own.“

“Yes, you can, when you have to,“ Lucifer replies patiently as if talking to a small child. “You have us now.”

Sam resists the urge to facepalm. “Lucifer-“

Lucifer’s eyes flash to him. “Like it or not, you’re vulnerable. You are mortal here, Sam. If anything happens to you, I need to be there. I can’t just raise you anymore.“

Sam pales when he realizes when – where – it was that he wasn’t mortal.

“Yeah, maybe,“ Dean picks up the thread of the conversation, giving Sam the chance to gather himself. “But you’re the ones Metatron’s after. He’s just as full of himself as the rest of you, he doesn’t think we can do anything to him. You? He’ll jump you the moment you’re out the wards. We’re lucky he didn’t already. So, you stay here, sit tight, and let the big boys make the delivery.“

“Play nice, kiddos, or I’ll have to do something stupid again,“ Gabriel drawls.

“I think I’d be on your side this time,“ Sam mutters. Gabriel lights up and immediately raises his hand, fingers poised.

Sam flinches. “Don’t!“

To his surprise, the Trickster doesn’t even protest, just relaxes his fingers, showing an open palm in a gesture of surrender, and lays back in his chair.

In the uneasy silence that follows, they all look at each other uncertainly.

“Lucifer has a point,“ Michael says eventually, slowly, testing the waters. “You are the most vulnerable of our group.“

“Yeah, but Dean is right, too,“ Sam replies. “Metatron underestimates us, so if it isn’t a trap, we have a much better chance to pick Hannah up without attracting his attention. And if it is a trap, you’re going to be just a prayer away.“

“Which is way more backup than we usually have,“ Dean adds. “We’re going.“

 

There’s not much to discuss after that. Gabriel points out that maybe they should try to reach Cas first, just in case, and they agree on a prayer. They don’t want to warn Metatron that they caught wind of what’s happening and might be on the move, not to mention angels can easily fake a voice.

So Dean prays, tells Cas what they learned and asks him to call them back.

Predictably, nothing happens.

Fighting disappointment, Sam leaves Dean to make the call to Hannah so that he can go to the bathroom, the need for the visit just about to become really urgent. Inconveniently, Lucifer catches up to him in the corridor.

“Sam.“ His voice is deep, firm, almost stern, and it sends a shiver of dark excitement down Sam’s spine. It’s his own reaction as much as the authority in the voice that rubs Sam in all the wrong ways right now, so soon after the reminder of the Cage.

“What?“ he bites out.

“Is it really wise to risk yourself like that?“

Sam gives him a twisted parody of a smirk. “We’re the Winchesters. We aren’t wise. We’re effective.“

“Sam.“ It sounds almost wounded.

“Look. It needs to be done. We can do it. That’s all.“

Lucifer steps closer, too close for comfort, the move blatantly calculated.

“Promise me you’ll be careful. Promise me you’ll pray if you are in danger.“

Sam’s gaze cuts away involuntarily before he remembers himself, remembers who it is that keeps playing at concern for him. “I’m not an idiot, Lucifer.“

Lucifer’s mouth presses into a narrow, displeased line. He leans forward, his hands coming up, palms against Sam’s bare neck. The hunter draws in a startled breath and freezes, caught between the threat and the intimacy of the gesture.

“You are mortal, Sam.“ As if being reminded once already wasn’t enough. “If I haven’t realized what is happening, you would have died today. A few minutes later and I wouldn’t have been able to bring you back. I’m not-“ His fingers twitch, the hold becoming just this side of too tight for a second, and Sam’s hands fly up to catch Lucifer’s wrists, unyielding like stone under his touch. Lucifer doesn’t seem to notice, his voice dropping lower, rougher, more urgent. “I’ve been made into so much less than I am, Sam. I can’t watch over you the way I once could.“

“You never watched over me,“ Sam spits out. “You were looking for me because you needed me, and the only reason you would’ve saved me from anything would be so that I can’t escape you. And don’t make me start on what you did when you could ‘watch over me’ to your heart’s content.“

Lucifer looks taken aback, in a way he has no right to look.

He also looks as if he didn’t know what to say. In the momentary silence, Sam becomes starkly aware of the solid weight of the palms on his neck, the faint warmth of them. Of the heartbeat in the wrists in his hold, the only thing that really seems alive about them, the only thing that seems fragile about those inhumanly strong hands.

They should feel confining, threatening, especially considering the topic Sam just brought up, but they don’t; they somehow bypass the whole conversation and bring him straight back into the game of touch and challenge they’ve got going. For a moment he’s split in two, one half of him still mad at Lucifer and the other already tempted to raise the stakes, to push and get even closer into Lucifer’s space. (And isn’t that a good proof of the insanity of it that he can feel both at the same time? Like two puzzle pieces, mismatched and overlaid.)

He swallows, more to test the give than anything else, and isn’t surprised to see Lucifer’s gaze flick down to his throat. What he doesn’t expect is to see him swallow in turn. To feel Lucifer’s thumbs slowly, experimentally brush up into his hairline. Sam digs his fingers into the wrists in his grip, hard enough to bruise if he dealt with a human. The movement stops.

“Lucifer.” It was supposed to be a warning. It comes out hoarse, closer to an acknowledgement. Of what, Sam doesn’t know, but it’s as if something materialized between them, a patch of common ground perhaps.

He should probably stop reading so much into it.

“Promise me,“ Lucifer repeats, his fingers flexing again for emphasis, as if the heaviness of his gaze wasn’t enough. “Let me watch over you now.“

Sam exhales in stunned surprise and then just forgets to breathe. Forgets everything for a moment, caught in the enormity of that promise, in how alien and vast Lucifer appears even within human skin. For that one moment he wishes he could agree, could step aside and be protected by something this powerful and never have to worry again.

Then reality slams back and he jerks back, or he would if Lucifer’s hold wasn’t so firm.

“We’ve talked about this. I have to call my own shots.“

Lucifer’s mouth twists in something that almost looks like impatience. “Yes, I know. I’m only asking you to let me help when you are in danger.“

Sam blinks. He’s pretty sure that’s not all they were talking about – not all the time, anyway. Maybe he’s still thrown by what happened earlier.

“Lucifer, I meant it. I’m not stupid. We’re allies, of course I’ll call you if I need help. Not if I know it’s a trap for you, sure, but yeah.“

Something flashes in Lucifer’s eyes.

“Even then,“ he says quietly, stubbornly.

Honestly, he looks as if he intended to rush into any trap in his way, all glory and Grace, and fight his way out if necessary. Sam should know. He recognizes the mindset.

He shakes his head, feels Lucifer’s palms shifting against his skin.

“Look. Here’s the thing: Metatron is gonna go after you because you are the enemies that can actually do something against him. It’s not on us this time. Dean and I, we’re doing what we can to help, but so far it wasn’t much. Like it or not, we’re expendable in this fight. So worry about Metatron first and saving us second, okay?“

The hands on his throat tighten again, like a warning. “You aren’t expendable, Sam. Not to me. You are special, one of a kind-“

“But I’m not.“

It’s enough to startle Lucifer into silence, but not enough to make him get it, and Sam squeezes his wrists as if he could make his point that way.

“I’m human, Lucifer. I’m not more ‘one of a kind’ than the rest of us. Sure, I’ve been dealt shittier cards than most, but there are people out there who had it way worse and grew up way better. I’ve made mistakes that cost thousands of lives – and yeah, I always did what I could to clean up the mess, but that doesn’t make me special, that’s what any decent person would do. You can’t put me on some sort of pedestal and pretend that it makes everything okay. It doesn’t work that way.”

It’s probably not very wise that he can’t find a better word to describe Lucifer’s expression than ‘petulant’.

“Why not?“

“Because one day you’re gonna realize I’m human. That I have weaknesses, that I can be corrupted just like everybody else – how do you think Ruby got me to release you? More importantly, I don’t _want_ to be something special. I just want to be normal. I’m not even that, thanks to the demon blood, but I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got.“

Lucifer is searching in his face as if he wasn’t sure Sam’s serious.

“You’re special to Dean, and you don’t mind that,“ he says eventually, with a note of stubborn challenge.

“That’s different. Dean doesn’t think I’m better than everybody else. He knows firsthand that I can be a pretty shitty example of humanity sometimes. But he cares because we’re family. Because we grew up together, because we know each other better than anyone else. Because there are times when we’re all the other has.“

“And Castiel?“

Sam can’t help a smile.

“By this point, Cas is as good as family, too. Look. I’m not saying you can’t care for some people more than others. I’m saying there’s a difference between caring for someone because you like something about them, and thinking they’re better than everybody else. The first is fine, more than fine. The second… is not. Especially in your case.“

Lucifer narrows his eyes at him.

“What is that supposed to mean?“

“That means I’m still not sure you’re not gonna try to wipe out the rest of human race the moment you think you can get away with it,“ Sam replies bluntly.

Lucifer stares at him, long and hard, in a way that for the first time makes his hold of Sam feel dangerous. And wouldn’t that be an irony if he decided Sam isn’t worth the trouble after all and just snapped his neck.

It only makes Sam stare right back.

He is almost disappointed by the loss of contact when Lucifer finally lets his hands fall to his sides, his expression closed off.

“So these are your terms. You’re not going to let me care for you unless I can accept the rest of humanity.“

Sam has the distinct feeling that he lost part of the conversation somewhere. It takes him a moment to catch up.

“It’s more like that I have a hard time believing you care for me if you still hate the rest of us, but- close enough, I guess.“

Lucifer nods, cold and displeased.

“I understand.“

Then he turns and stalks away. Sam is left staring after him, not sure what just happened.

o.O.o

“Gabriel.“

It occurs to Lucifer almost immediately that maybe visiting his brother in his tiny room wasn’t the most diplomatic thing he could do, especially considering Gabriel can’t fly away. Gabriel’s eyes are wary, tracking his every movement, even though it took him just a second to resume petting the rabbit in his lap and smile, crooked and bright and false.

“Lucifer! Finally here to tear me a new one for breaking your boytoy?”

And that, perhaps, explains the wariness. He really should have planned this better, should have chosen a different place and different time. Not here, not right after Gabriel returned from setting up the safehouse and both Winchesters left to meet up with Hannah. It’s convenient, because there’s not much for either of them to do while they wait for news, but it would also be the best opportunity for an attack.

It’s as if Gabriel suddenly forgot his older brothers aren’t archangels anymore, no matter how many times he gleefully reminded them of it. The lapse in judgment is worrying, this one almost as much as the one Gabriel just referred to.

Gabriel fears, and he acts in panic. It’s not respect, it’s not the devotion he once had for Lucifer; it’s a visceral fear of death angels aren’t supposed to have, and all of it leaves bitter taste in Lucifer’s mouth.

He’s the one who taught Gabriel to fear death.

Of course, it’s not his fault, not entirely; not any more than it is Gabriel’s own. Nobody forced his little brother to stand against him, to attack. Lucifer was well within his rights to protect himself. It’s not guilt he feels. But looking at Gabriel now, he has a sudden, unwelcome, unpleasant thought:

It wasn’t worth it.

Lucifer had every right to make Gabriel pay and he wishes, fervently, that he didn’t.

He didn’t even need to. He could have done what Gabriel planned for him: cripple him, take him out of the game. Come back for him when it was all over, give him another chance. But he was too hurt, too angry, too desperate to even consider that.

It was justice what he did, but-

He wishes he chose mercy over justice, just that one time. Especially when all Gabriel did was what Lucifer had done before: stood up for his conviction against somebody stronger than him and didn’t give up until the bitter end. And suddenly the words rush out of him before he can stop them:

“I don’t understand, brother. You spent centuries as the Trickster, punishing people for their crimes. You know the worst about humanity. Why are you on their side?“

Gabriel’s lips curl in distaste.

“Really? This old song?“

Lucifer’s fists ball up in frustration and he opens them again, sickeningly close to imploring, because it’s always like this, he always ends up being judged for things he didn’t say, didn’t even think.

“I’m not trying to convince you. I’m asking you to explain. I don’t understand.“

Gabriel watches him for a moment, then rolls his eyes.

“It’s because the A-holes I used to punish were the exceptions, Lucifer. That’s why I went after them.“

“All humans are flawed.“

“Sure they are. Newsflash: So are we. Or do you really think we would be in this mess if we were perfect?“

“They aren’t any better, either! They are monsters, terrible hybrids caught between an animal’s instincts and an angel’s awareness, whatever broken pieces of it they can contain. They were given the gift of free will and look what they do with it. Why should we serve them?“

It’s an useless outburst, he knows that. Everybody who ever dared to agree with him is dead and Gabriel has even less reason to listen to him than most. He knows what kind of reaction to expect.

But Gabriel just looks at him for a while, for once serious, for once not exasperated or incredulous or showing any other exaggerated emotion.

“I don’t know,“ he says at last, honest in a way he usually isn’t lately. “Do I look like Dad to you? Don’t you think he would let me remember at least something of the time you two say we spent together if he was happy with how I treated humanity?“

Which is unexpected enough to stun Lucifer into silence, a silence Gabriel uses to shrug and continue:

“If I had to guess? I don’t think it’s a flaw. I think Dad simply wanted to see what will happen if he gives an animal self-awareness, and doesn’t give it any other limit than, well, being an animal. And boy, does stuff happen when you let people loose.“ He brightens up, a familiar glint in his eyes that somehow makes everything easier, closer to what it once was when Gabriel had the ability to be enthusiastic about anything and everything that was new. But there is a weight in his voice, conviction he used to lack, experience too painful to breeze through the way he used to. “They change, Lucifer. All the time. Every country, every century is different – hah! – every village and every decade if you know when and where to look. And sure, some things stay the same. They will always love someone and hate someone. They will have brothers and sisters and parents and kids, they will argue with their neighbors and then pretend nothing is wrong. Some of them will forgive things they shouldn’t and some will go after revenge that doesn’t fit the crime. Some of them will be happy living quiet normal lives and some will try to change the world, some will give in to the worst of their nature and some will try to become perfect in whichever flawed way they think best and fail so spectacularly you wouldn’t believe, but-“ He takes a breath. “But most people are at least trying to be decent, Lucifer. They have to choose what it means to be good and then try to stick to it, and sure, some of them put together a really weird definition and some of them suck, but at least they try. And if they don’t...“ He grins lazily, the expression suddenly lifetimes away from an angel. “Then I get to have my fun.“

The rabbit hopped down from his lap sometime during that speech, disturbed by all the gesticulation accompanying it. Gabriel doesn’t seem to notice.

“The point is, they’re okay. They’re good enough. They’re _interesting_. All those centuries, and I never got bored with them. Or,“ he waves a hand, “whenever I did, they were easy to stir up. So sue me, I don’t want them to go extinct. I don’t want them in Michael’s neat little Paradise, either. Not to mention Hell.“

And Lucifer is tempted, so very tempted to call it quits. It’s clear at this point that humanity isn’t going anywhere unless it destroys itself, and it would be so easy to step aside and let it happen (or not, however slim is the chance). Claim neutrality for the sake of Gabriel and Sam, because he has fought everyone for far too long and giving up his quest in exchange for the closeness he craves doesn’t seem like such a bad deal anymore.

Except that it still feels like a betrayal of everything he is, everything he ever stood against to suddenly take the easy way out. It feels like if he just let go now, all his suffering would have been for nothing. Everything in him rebels at the thought, an almost physical sensation like a tide breaking against the shore. He can’t.

That makes the only option left to him the hard one. The terrifying one. He grits his teeth, takes a breath – both expressions of the human body which he’s learning to enjoy.

“Tell me more. You know people better than anyone. Tell me.“

Gabriel quirks an eyebrow at him, disbelieving enough to be amused. “What of it? The good? The bad?“

“The truth. All of it.“

He can’t just give up. Not for Gabriel, not for Sam, although he could temporarily hold himself back for them, and for the peace with Michael. Sooner or later he will always act on what he believes in. But he can let Gabriel continue what Sam has started at the Stull Cemetery and later, unwillingly and unwittingly, in the Cage.

He can give them the chance to change his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random facts (long rambling, feel free to ignore):  
> 1) Writing fanfiction is as much fun as writing original fiction. I thought I won’t care for fanfic characters as much as I do for mine, but I’ve since adopted them. (It’s a strange arrangement when a handful of characters have droves of adoptive writers, but we collectively make it work, I think.)  
> 2) The time for denial is over. I ship Samifer now. I ship it hard. I guess that makes this part of the experiment successful. :) (The second part is, can I finish a longfic? So far so good. Even though I’m slowly losing hope I’ll manage to keep this story under 100k.)  
> 3) I don’t work well with plans. I thought I never finish anything because I don’t have it thoroughly planned in advance, but the problem is apparently somewhere else. So far nearly every chapter has something I didn’t plan for when I started it, and often they’re scenes I like the most. I don’t think I will use the idea I originally had for the ending. The story has since developed elsewhere.  
> 4) I’m worlds away from the writer I want to be. But boy am I having ungodly amounts of fun. At the end of day, that’s what counts: I’m happy when I can tell stories. I can even find people who are also happy that I tell stories. What’s not to like?


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. As I mostly expected, it became even harder to find any free time to write once I returned to work. But I’m not giving up. :) I will still try to publish a chapter at least every 2-3 weeks, even if they may become shorter and cut in slightly weird places. (No, not in the middle of a sentence. Just between scenes I would otherwise like to have in one chapter because they form some sort of a mini-arc.)  
> Please be patient with me.

_“Michael? We have Hannah. Looks like she’s good. There wasn’t any trap, so there’s that.“_

Sam Winchester’s prayer is a thing of beauty, strong and clear despite the lack of urgency. Not for the first time Michael wonders how can a human soul tainted by demon blood feel so pure in prayer. He doesn’t blame Lucifer for liking it, though the way he outright preens under the attention and thinks Michael doesn’t notice is a little ridiculous and more than a little worrying.

 _“We’re on our way to the safe house,“_ Sam continues. _“Hannah insists she needs to talk to you, so I guess we’ll meet there. Call us if there’s a change of plans. Uhm. Amen?“_

The ending is reluctant as if the man wasn’t yet used to this mode of communication, despite having known Castiel for years. But then, maybe it’s the formality he isn’t used to. The Winchesters’ relationship to Castiel is certainly… unique.

“Sam says that Hannah seems genuine,” he relays for the sake of his brothers and Kevin, immediately capturing their attention.

“And insistent,” he adds. “I will have to meet her. Lucifer, I’d like you to come with me.“

Gabriel quirks an expressive eyebrow at him, while Lucifer’s lips twist into a humorless smirk.

“I thought we don’t want her to turn on us?“

“We are allies now. If she is going to turn on us for that, it’s better it happens now rather than later. I’m not going to keep you a secret.“

Gabriel sprawls more comfortably in his chair and points an insolent finger at him.

“I remember you used to be a big fan of keeping secrets,” he comments idly, in that deliberately provoking tone he uses far too often recently.

Michael very nearly sighs. He remembers forbidding Gabriel from spreading the news of their Father’s disappearance. He remembers the argument they had about that, one of the few they’ve ever had and also the last before the younger archangel left. Gabriel, God’s Messenger, used to love the truth.

Until he went and adopted a whole false identity.

“And it didn’t work,“ he answers with as much patience as he can muster. “I _can_ learn from my mistakes, brother.“

“Spread the good news,“ Gabriel mutters sarcastically, which is disappointing but not surprising. What is more surprising is that he subsides after that, his gaze sliding from Michael to Lucifer. He appears almost thougtful, but maybe he’s just settling in for the show. Michael isn’t an expert on human-like expressions under the best circumstances and Gabriel’s are purposefully misleading more often than not.

He turns to Lucifer, whose lips are wryly, almost imperceptibly lifting at the corners.

“I’m still not returning to Heaven,“ he says.

“I’m not asking you to.“ Even though he wants to, and Lucifer knows it. His willingness to hold back will have to be enough.

Lucifer spreads his hands, smirking.

“Alright, then. Lead the way.“

o.O.o

Hannah hides her flinch well when she realizes who he is, and then she lifts her chin and meets his gaze straight on for just a moment before she moves on to Michael. Lucifer doesn’t let himself smile, but it’s a near thing.

She’s a good match to Castiel, really. At least in regards to him. In regards to Michael, she is much less confrontational than her chosen commander. She looks at him as if she couldn’t believe she stands in his presence and couldn’t decide whether it’s a good thing. Her nod in his direction is respectful but reserved, almost apprehensive.

“Michael.“ And then, with the barest pause and in almost the same tone: “Lucifer.“

“You aren’t surprised both of us came,“ Michael states.

“Castiel told me he’s met both of you and that you have resolved your differences,“ she half-answers the unspoken question, and then glances at the Winchesters, a tension in her frame that can’t be explaned only by the archangels’ presence. “Can we speak alone?“

“Sure!“ Dean responds from where he was pretending to check the kitchen’s appliances. “Important angel business, right? Let’s go, Sammy.“

Sam, who is leaning against a dresser, makes a put upon face, but he straightens without a sign of surprise at the attitude. Lucifer makes a mental note to ask later whether it’s just Dean’s general dislike of angels of if he and Hannah had some sort of conflict.

“Yeah, we’ll leave you to it,“ Sam agrees. “Hannah, use the house as long as you need. We’ll be in touch.“

Hannah acknowledges him with a tight, reluctant little nod, and watches as the hunters gather at the door. But Sam stops for a moment as Dean already walks out; he looks back and there it comes, clear as bell:

_“Lucifer?”_

Lucifer doesn’t bother to hide his smile at the prayer, even though the warmth of it is something he can’t interpret, something that is usually missing when the hunter talks to him out loud; something that seems to be both purely _Sam_ and inherently human.

“I hear you, Sam,“ he confirms gladly.

He could swear he sees Sam’s lips twitch upwards when he ducks his head in another brief nod and turns to leave after his brother.

In his wake, the world feels a lot less friendly, especially under the scrutiny of the other two angels. Lucifer shrugs and lets his smile fall as he stares right back at Hannah.

It doesn’t take her long to realize her interest isn’t welcome and return to Michael.

“Castiel told me you have no intention of leading the Host,“ she states, cutting straight to the chase.

“That’s correct.“

“It’s unfortunate,“ she responds with conviction. “It’s the main reason our brothers are closing ranks around Metatron. They can’t believe you are so passive if you really are back.“

So much for a thoroughly uninteresting angel. As far as Lucifer remembers, few of their siblings ever had the gall to criticize Michael openly, and even fewer didn’t regret it in the end. Michael’s face grows into a blank mask, only his eyes betraying that someone still inhabits the body.

“You mean they think Michael is somehow under my control,“ Lucifer cheerfully digs her grave deeper.

“The Cage is your domain, as Metatron pointed out,“ she replies.

Lucifer grits his teeth, but it’s Michael who answers, sounding very calm:

“The Cage isn’t anybody’s domain but our Father’s.”

“Which makes our Father the only one who could have released you without any signs,“ Hannah returns immediately. “Michael, what is your mission now? Why are you back if not to lead?”

Michael presses his lips together and then withdraws once again, leaving his vessel’s expression perfectly neutral.

“I don’t have a mission.“

Hannah is silent for a long while. Whether it’s the idea of an angel without a mission or Michael without a mission that took her aback so much, Lucifer doesn’t know.

“Not even one you’d pick yourself?“ she asks at last, much softer, blue eyes earnest and grave and almost sympathetic.

Michael hesitates; draws a breath as if he wanted to respond, then slowly lets it out again without a word.

“This isn’t what we are meant to be,“ she presses, conviction returning into her voice even as the sympathy stays there. “We were supposed to uphold peace, to be strong together, to fulfill our duties, whatever they are. This confusion wasn’t meant to happen.“

“It happened.“

“Yes, and we need to deal with it the best we can. We have choices. We have the responsibility to choose well. We have to choose to be angels, to be brothers and sisters, to be God’s warriors instead of fighting with each other. But we need a leader. It can be you or it can be Metatron. With Castiel captured, there isn’t anybody else who has a chance to unite us all.“

In his brother’s lengthening silence, Lucifer smiles at her, taking care to make it disturbing rather than pleasant. “And if Michael refuses?“

“It will have to be Metatron,” she replies calmly.

His smile twitches, becomes something genuinely, if darkly amused. “Isn’t it a bit risky to give us an ultimatum?“

Something flares in her eyes when she returns his gaze. “I was asked to join Metatron twice. I refused both times, risking death, hoping there is some better option. Why shouldn’t I risk the same again if there isn’t?“

She doesn’t even give him time to respond before she addresses the eldest again.

“Michael, we are still soldiers. If the Fall proved anything, it’s that we need a leader, or we turn to chaos and violence. That’s not an ultimatum, that’s our nature. We can change – we have changed. I don’t think we could go back to the way things were.“ She pauses, continues with some hesitation. “I don’t think I want to go back to the way things were. It’s nice to have a say, and not just as a second-in-command, but simply as an angel. But we need… boundaries, and a direction, and we can’t give ourselves that.“

Michael just stares at her long enough to make Lucifer wonder if he intends to speak at all today. Hannah, apparently having expressed everything she wanted to, stares back, letting the silence stretch out as long as it will.

“I can’t give you direction, either,“ Michael finally says, voice painfully flat. “I don’t know what our Father’s wishes are. I can’t promise you He’ll return even if we do everything right.“

Lucifer shifts closer to him before he even realizes what he’s doing, and then he stops, because he can’t really do anything. Not in front of Hannah, and maybe not at all. Michael’s loss of faith runs too deep and Lucifer’s the last one who could make it any better. He shouldn’t even want to.

Hannah contemplates it for a while, and then gives a careful little shrug.

“I’m not sure we could tell the difference even if He did. All we ever had was you.“

Michael flinches.

“God never revealed Himself to us the way He did to you,“ she reminds him. “There’s no reason to believe that would change if He came back. It was a shock to learn He was missing for such a long time, of course, but how can we mourn something when it turns out we lost it millennia ago and we haven’t even noticed?“ She pauses, then proceeds more carefully: “I’m sorry for your loss, but your loss isn’t the same as ours. We had you. It was… not without fault, but it was enough.“

Michael’s face does something complicated that not even Lucifer can interpret.

“It was enough because you thought your orders came from our Father.“

“No. It was enough because it gave us purpose, kept us united. Most of us, anyway.“

“It was a wrong purpose.“

“Did you know that at the time?“

“Of course not. I believed-“ Michael almost chokes on the rest of the sentence, leaving it unfinished.

“What is the difference between that and the situation we’re in now, then? Whoever replaces you won’t know any better. Just like you, they will need to make decisions without knowing God’s will. And maybe Castiel had the right idea, maybe more angels than just one should share that responsibility, but that doesn’t make us any less blind, it just gives us more hands to map out the path.“

And they call Lucifer the master of temptation. He’s a little disgruntled he didn’t come up with this angle himself, because it’s clear it works, to some extent; enough to be worth remembering and using later, in various incarnations he’ll have to think through yet. Maybe it really is the missing ingredient to eventually convincing Michael to go after what he really wants, just this once.

Not yet, of course, which is a pity, because the longer it will take him, the harder it will be to gather followers. But Michael is too stubborn for his own good, always was. The length of yet another thoughtful, conflicted silence Hannah managed to get out of him is impressive, but Lucifer knows what to expect when his brother finally straightens and says, without a hint of doubt:

“Very well.“

Lucifer blinks.

“I will take command of the Host. Get the word out the best you can; we’ll do the same on our end.“

Lucifer just gapes at him. He’d doubt he’s hearing right, but there’s no mistaking the rest of it, the absolute certainty in Michael’s voice and posture, that straightforward gaze as if Michael was already envisioning the battles they need to fight and win. It’s the first time he witnesses them when Michael is envesseled, but he would recognize them anywhere, anytime, because this, this is his brother, the real Michael, not the broken, subdued shadow of him that came out of the Cage.

It’s more than worth forgetting that he wasn’t the one to nudge him the last step to his rebirth.

Hannah looks as if she couldn’t believe her luck, but she is a soldier like the rest of them, quick to overcome surprise, especially in her general’s presence.

“What should I tell them?“

Michael doesn’t exactly hesitate – he never does, in this mood – but he takes a short moment to steel his resolve.

“The truth. We were released from the Cage by God. We’ve made peace and we were given a second chance, though not as archangels. We are without orders. There is precious little our Father told us. We know the Apocalypse wasn’t His intention and humanity is supposed to continue undisturbed towards whichever end it brings on itself. We know He is displeased with Metatron’s actions. The rest is our decision and our responsibility. I call on my brothers and sisters not because God commands it, but because He gave us free will, and I will do with it what I believe is right. Metatron cannot be allowed to rule. He’s no God, he clearly doesn’t have our siblings’ best interests at heart, he has no purpose other than his own ambition, his rule threatens the very existence of Heaven. He is unfit to lead the Host and I bid my brothers and sisters to renounce him and join me.“

Lucifer grins wild and spreads his wings in celebration and defiance, just barely remembering to bend them along Gabriel’s wards to stay within them. Challenging not his brother but the Universe, anything and anyone that would try to stand in their way. Hannah startles. Michael cuts him a glance out the corner of an eye at first and, curiously, leaves his wings folded as if he didn’t need the reminder of his freedom anymore. Then, following some inner sense, he turns to Lucifer, meeting his gaze straight on.

“Are you with me?“

Nothing in his tone suggests he expects his brother to even hesitate, and Lucifer doesn’t, nearly laughing in exhilaration.

“Yes. Yes, of course.“ And then, because he has more than enough practise only getting caught in Michael’s zeal when it suits him: “As long as you still don’t expect me to return to Heaven when it’s done.“

He smiles when he says that, but Michael sobers, holds the eye contact for a while before he promises heavily: “I won’t force you.“

Lucifer’s smile softens when he nods in acknowledgment.

Hannah gives them a moment before she carefully asks: “Is that all I should pass on?“

“Yes. Keep track of those who promise loyalty. Those who don’t have any other hiding place, gather them here. Those who are currently in Metatron’s ranks should stay there until I call on them. When the time comes, they will play a role, and until then I don’t want Metatron to know who to trust.“

“Which is only fair, because we won’t know that, either,“ Lucifer remarks.

Michael grimaces, just slightly. “True.“

Hannah hesitates, looking from one to the other, then addressing Michael again: “What do you want to do with those who won’t join you?“

That takes Michael some thought before he can answer.

“I won’t punish them just for being on Metatron’s side, or for staying neutral. If I can decide to lead based only on information I have and on free will, I have to allow them the same. But I won’t hold back for anyone if I meet them in battle. However, this stays between us. Let them draw their own conclusions whose wrath is safer to face. We can’t afford to turn down those who will join out of fear once we prove we can win.“

Hannah nods.

“If you don’t have any other questions, we need to make plans. We will stay in touch.“

“Of course.“

With that, they spread their wings and fly back to the bunker, leaving Michael’s first new soldier behind.

o.O.o

Michael, followed closely by his brother, touches down in his room in the bunker. He has little patience for common courtesy right now, especially when the Winchesters aren’t home to let them in. He’s still reeling, not from the short flight but from the implications of his decision.

Lucifer arrives with a breathless laugh as if Michael set free some part of him that their release from the Cage couldn’t reach. Once more, Michael is reminded how fundamentally different they are, and the chill that runs through his core at that thought prevents him from pressing himself against his brother for support, for some reminder of a time when everything was bleak and hopeless but at least it was clear-cut and their differences didn’t matter.

Instead, he lets the mask he donned for Hannah’s sake fall apart, and then he watches Lucifer’s grin fade when he notices.

“Don’t tell me you have second thoughts.”

As if he could.

“No. It’s this or leaving the rest of our siblings to Metatron. Hannah was right: there isn’t anybody else now. I couldn’t afford to hesitate any longer.“

Lucifer hums his agreement and watches him for a moment, good mood competing with worry, both clearly visible in the arch of his wings which he didn’t hide yet. Possibly for Michael’s sake, because it allows him to see when the worry wins.

“What is it, brother?“

Maybe their differences still don’t matter. Maybe they are both determined enough not to let them.

“I never changed my mind, Lucifer. I still think this isn’t what Father wanted me to do when he released us. But I can’t just watch. I can only hope that I will be allowed the time to lead our siblings to victory, and perhaps set some of my past mistakes right, but then-“

He can’t bring himself to finish, but Lucifer finishes the thought for him:

“You still think you’ll be punished for this.“

“Probably.“

“Even though you believe it’s the right thing to do.“

“Yes. It’s still disobedience.“

Lucifer opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Shakes his head.

“When did I become the one who has more faith in our Father?“

Michael flinches, but then he finds the strength for a hint of a smile.

“You always were, if by having faith in Him you mean believing that He’ll eventually see things your way. I don’t know whether that’s faith in Him, or in yourself.“

Lucifer concedes the point with an almost sheepish grin. Then he grows serious again.

“Just in case you’re right – I won’t let you take the fall by yourself,“ he promises and Michael shivers, because they both know what they’re talking about.

“I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

Lucifer shrugs and half-smirks, but again it’s the wings, so much easier to read, that tell Michael what’s behind it: the stubborn affection, the hint of challenge. “Don’t conveniently forget what Father told us now. He waited so long to come to us because he wanted us to stand with each other more than he wanted either of us to stand with him. Well, when it comes to me, he has what he wished for.“

There was a time, and it doesn’t seem so long ago, when Michael would hear only the defiance in that proclamation, and not the loyalty. He averts his gaze.

“Aren’t you afraid?“ It comes out quiet and flat.

Lucifer considers it for a while.

“Not really,“ he replies at last. “Mostly because I don’t believe Father will want to talk to us again anytime soon. And even if he does, and even if he doesn’t like what we’re doing here, I still-“ He stops himself, frowns in thought, then picks up much slower, almost reluctant. “No, I think I trust him _again_ , just enough. He’s changed. I don’t think he ever intends to take the reins again, to openly give out rewards and punishments, but if he does… I think this time he would listen to your reasons. And they’re good reasons, Michael.“

Michael doesn’t respond to that, wishing Lucifer’s arguments were as reassuring to him as Lucifer apparently thinks they are.

“I don’t understand why you envied humanity free will,“ he says instead. “It’s terrifying.“

This time it doesn’t take Lucifer long to consider it and give a grim smile. “It’s worth it. Come on. We have a war to plan and win. We can worry about punishments later.“

Which also isn’t a mindset that would come to Michael easily, but it’s the only option he has at the moment.

He nods, straightens and walks out to where Gabriel and Kevin wait for news.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need a pick-me-up so I’m going to give you a short and nasty chapter. Does that make sense? It does to me. :) Warning for extortion and the consequences thereof.
> 
> For Malami and those who read the comments: Sorry, the chapter heavy on Samifer will be the next one. It’s partially written but I probably wouldn’t be able to finish it until this Saturday, and I don’t want to make you all wait for an update more than three weeks.  
> Who am I kidding, I also don’t want to make myself wait for an update more than three weeks. :)  
> Not sure whether I should say ‘enjoy’ or ‘sorry’ for this one.

One of the general truths Sam has long ago learned about his brother is that he can easily measure Dean’s stress levels by how long it takes him to relax when driving. It’s how he first started to suspect the Mark is getting out of control; it’s how he knows Dean still isn’t completely recovered from its influence (though it’s hard to tell how much of it is the last traces of the Mark and how much is Cas’s predicament).

It’s also how he knows the encounter with Hannah didn’t help the matters any.

It’s not even her fault. They know angels; when they agreed to pick her at the roadside to make their meeting as hard to predict or track as possible, they should’ve told her to dress for the occasion, and not as if she was going for a casual stroll through the mall. By the time they got to her, the crazy chick who didn’t even want a ride already made it into local rumors, spreading further with every chatty driver along the road.

Luckily they chose a fairly deserted one, so although their attempt at secrecy failed spectacularly, they got her behind the safehouse’s wards without incident. It was still enough for her and Dean to start off on the wrong foot, though; a first impression which she didn’t improve any when she insisted on talking with Michael as if he was the only one who matters.

And as much as he tries to be fair, Sam isn’t exactly happy with her, either. It’s one thing to not want to have anything to do with angel politics and to know that Cas would rather not have anything to do with it, either. It’s another thing to be treated like nothing but a useful contact, and more than that, to see Cas so coldly written off as a leader.

Sam tries to remind himself that Cas wasn’t any better in the past, a soldier trained to cut his losses and move forward at all costs, and that Hannah has had a much shorter time to learn any different, but even then, he can’t blame Dean for his foul mood.

Neither can he blame him for choosing a long detour to get back to the Bunker. Giving the spot where they picked up Hannah a wide berth is the least they can do.

It’s not enough.

When a figure appears out of thin air on the road right ahead, Dean curses and slams the brakes. The momentum throws Sam forward, forces him to brace himself against the dashboard. The next moment they realize who it is standing in their way. Sam reaches for his gun, useless as it’s going to be, and the car stops decelerating for an instant as Dean considers hitting the gas pedal instead. It’s a very brief consideration. Chances are he would total the Impala without accomplishing anything.

They come to a stop only a few feet away from the Scribe, who is tapping his foot and frowning at them like a disappointed teacher.

For several seconds nothing happens. Then Dean makes up his mind and cuts the engine. Taking it as his clue, Sam climbs out of the car without having to make sure Dean is doing the same.

Metatron shakes his head at them.

“The Winchesters again. I thought we understand each other after the last time: You don’t play nice, I take Castiel away from you. What do I need to do to make the lesson stick?“

Somewhere to Sam’s side, Dean glares at Metatron just as fiercely as Sam does.

“What do you want?”

“To go back to the way things were before you ruined them!“ Metatron exclaims in exasperation that is as false as the rest of his masks. “I have something you want, you have something I want. We will exchange those things and everyone will be happy. That’s not so bad, is it?“

Sam bites back the urge to tell him to go do something anatomically impossible and forces himself to ask the obvious question instead. “And what are those?“

Metatron drops the act. What shows beneath is what Sam thinks of as the real Metatron: something cold, ugly and full of barely controlled fury.

“Michael and Lucifer. I want them captured and delivered to me.“ He tries to regain some semblance of the joviality he was so carefully presenting before, but it’s either too much for him or he’s not trying too hard. “You must admit it’s a good offer. Castiel for the two angels who ruined everything. Castiel is like family to you, isn’t he?“

“Go fuck yourself sideways,“ Dean snarls.

Metatron lips quiver with rage.

“Or I could drag him down right now and execute him right in front of you.“

Sam takes a breath through clenched teeth, but Dean doesn’t give in that easily.

“But you won’t, because then you lose your hostage. You’ll have to try better than that.“

For a moment it seems Metatron will smite him on the spot. Then he reins himself in.

“You want me to sweeten the deal? Fine. Two for two. You deliver Michael and Lucifer, I give you Castiel and Gadreel. You have unfinished business with him, I have unfinished business with them, we all get to do whatever we want with our enemies.“

Sam takes another, softer breath. The game has just changed. Whether Metatron has a reason to doubt Gadreel’s loyalty to him or always intended to use him and then get rid of him, it means it is possible to drive a wedge between Metatron and his second-in-command.

It’s probably wrong on some level that underneath considering this new piece of information from all angles, he isn’t even tempted by the offer of revenge. He lost that urge sometime between seeing the angel so thoroughly beaten by Dean and Lucifer’s story about Gadreel’s original ‘crime’. It had been easier to just hate the Sentry, simpler, but Cas got him thinking, and as per usual, once Sam started thinking, he couldn’t stop. Metatron is wrong: to Sam, Gadreel isn’t a hated enemy anymore, just a man backed so completely into a corner that he’d do anything to get out of it. A dangerous, desperate opponent, yes, but still someone he’d rather offer a way out than tear him apart with his bare hands, as he once wanted.

He doesn’t say anything, and neither does Dean.

Metatron looks from one to the other. “What? It’s fair, right? I know you want him.“

“Yeah,“ Dean admits, unimpressed. “Not enough to give up the two guys that make you so nervous.“

Metatron jumps as if poked. “They aren’t making me nervous. They’re making me angry. Do you really think I can’t come for them personally? I just think this would be easier for everybody.“ He shifts again, like a bird trying to settle ruffled feathers, and carefully chooses a different approach. “I like Castiel, you know? He’s… cute when he’s trying. So I wanted to give you the chance to get him back, safe and sound. Maybe you could convince him to stop pestering me. I’m not unreasonable. If he admits defeat – publicly – I’ll leave him be.“ He raises a finger. “Him and you too. You have your own issues to solve, don’t you? So, get out of my way and I’ll leave you to it. You must admit, that is gracious.“

“It’s a load of bullshit,“ Dean replies shortly.

Metatron’s tone drops back to ice cold.

“Once more for the slow pupil: I _will win_. If you insist on going against me, it will cost you everything. If you work with me, do what I want from you, I will show mercy. Favor, even. If you don’t hesitate too long.“ He gives them one last long glare. “Think about it. Castiel’s life is in your hands.“

With that parting shot, he vanishes.

Sam wordlessly looks at Dean. Dean looks back.

“Son of a bitch.“

Which sums up Sam’s feelings on the matter, too.

“We can’t do that,“ he says. “We do that, Metatron wins.“ It makes sense; it’s why the Scribe is pushing in the first place. Sam’s too practical for his stance on the matter to have much to do with honoring an alliance, and it definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the weird protectiveness he feels when he thinks about Lucifer anywhere near Metatron.

He has no reason to be protective towards Lucifer.

Dean stays silent.

“Dean, you aren’t actually considering this, are you?“

Dean presses his lips together momentarily, a tiny uncomfrotable gesture that speaks volumes about his state of mind.

“Yeah, but we need to get Cas out of there. You heard Hannah. She doesn’t give rat’s ass about Cas – and neither does Michael or the other two. This is on us. And just between us, Metatron thinks we and Cas can’t do anything, but Cas was there for whatever the angels were planning. He can do just as much as them. Metatron isn’t the type to get rid of whoever so quickly. He’s a pompous, self-important piece of shit. He’d gloat. He’d keep them for a while to make them pay. So if we have to, we can exchange them and save them later. We’d still have Gabriel, too.“

“Who isn’t going to stick around if we turn on the other two. You know him. The moment he knows he can’t trust us, he’s gone.“

Dean scoffs. “He doesn’t trust us. Gabriel doesn’t trust anybody.“

“No, but he loves his brothers, remember? He’s pissed at them, but he still loves them. He isn’t going to be happy with us if we deliver them straight to Metatron. Maybe that’s Metatron’s plan, even. If we do what he wants, he’ll take out Michael and Lucifer, we’ll get stuck in some sort of alternate reality again if we’re lucky and Cas will probably burn himself out trying to do everything on his own. Metatron’s only remaining problem will be Gabriel, and he already proved he can take him on.“

“Because Metatron got a jump on him,“ Dean reminds him. “Not gonna happen again.“

“Once he gets enough angels back in Heaven, he won’t need to get a jump on him. Gabriel has trouble flying. He’s going to be sitting duck. And he spent too much of his powers getting back-“

“Don’t!“ Dean warns, urgently enough to make Sam shut up and frown at him in confusion.

“We don’t know how the dick’s getting information, yeah? For all we know, he can be still around, invisible or something. He’s a freaking upgraded angel, remember?“

Sam blinks. “Yeah. Sorry. We’ll talk about it later, I guess.“

“Sure. And then we’ll do what he fucking have to.“

Dean doesn’t look happy with the prospect, enough to seem genuine.

As Sam folds his long body back into the shotgun seat, he hopes it’s an act for Metatron’s sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear one of these days I’ll let Dean appear like the reasonable, responsible, stalwart older brother he (sometimes) is. He’s constantly drawing the short stick in this story. Sometimes I’m worrying I’m making him into a caricature of himself. ;-;


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: I guess what happens in this chapter at one point could be considered a consent issue. See end notes for details. Also, if you’re uncomfortable with anything resembling a sex scene, please go read the end notes, too.

They return to the Bunker to find Michael, Lucifer and Gabriel arguing in clipped, rapid-fire Enochian, Kevin nowhere to be seen. There’s a ball of light floating above the war room table, bright enough to be painful to look at and swirling with new colors and shapes whenever one of the angels gesticulates particularly wildly in its direction.

Okay, Gabriel and Lucifer gesticulate wildly, Michael is much more controlled, but the ball of light reacts to him, too.

“What the fuck is this?!“ Dean bellows right from the top of the stairs.

All three angels startle and turn to look at them. Gabriel snuffs the ball of light out with a gesture. The room is plunged into absolute darkness for a split second, then the regular lights come on.

“Just an illusion,“ Gabriel says in a tone that suggests there would have been an eyeroll if the archangel wasn’t busy watching Dean like a hawk. “Who pissed in your coffee this morning?“

Now that something else has their attention, it suddenly looks like there wasn’t any argument at all. Gabriel stands with his back turned to Lucifer, which barely ever happens (although that may have something to do with the table between them) and Lucifer and Michael seem as comfortable around each other as always.

“Where’s Kevin?“ Dean barks next.

This time Gabriel does roll his eyes.

“In the library. Got bored listening to us. Wonder why. Ah! Might have something to do with not understanding a word we’re saying.“

“Kevin Tran is a Prophet, not a strategist,“ Michael supplies carefully, as if he thought it needs explaining. “Until he translates another part of the Tablet, he can’t contribute anything new.“

Dean must come to the same conclusion as Sam, then, because when he waves his hand somewhere in the direction of the table, he seems much calmer.

“So this thing was…”

“As close as we could get to a plan of Heaven and the Veil and a few other relevant things,“ Gabriel confirms. “We can’t afford to let Metatron sit up there much longer.“

“So, the talk with Hannah went well?“ Sam chances a guess.

“It showed the necessity of action,“ Michael replies. For a moment he looks even more constipated than he usually does, then he apparently makes up his mind, standing up just a bit straighter, somehow more alive. “I have decided to lead the Host once more, at least in this war.“

Dean next to Sam grips the railing of the stairs.

“Good thing Cas is out of the way, then, right?“

Michael appears confused for a second.

“Castiel doesn’t want to lead. He only took up the role because our siblings needed someone to unite them in the current crisis, but he never intended to keep it after Metatron’s defeat. He told me as much himself.“

“Yeah? And were you going to rescue Cas in that great plan of yours, or is that too much of a hassle?“

Michael frowns, clearly not understanding what the fuss is about. “Castiel is not a priority. There isn’t anything to justify a separate strike to save him. He will be most likely safe once we draw Metatron’s attention, and from that moment onward we need to move fast.“

“Yeah, guess what, Cas is a priority to us. I’m not going for a plan that makes him just ‘likely safe’.”

Michael’s frown deepens.

“Hey,“ Gabriel draws the attention to himself, speaking surprisingly softly. “Cas is probably being held in Heaven’s prison. Saying it’s out of the way no matter how we go about this is a huge understatement. As in, even if we had somebody to send in there to make sure he’s okay, it’s going to be over one way or another long before they reach him. Unless we get one of the jailers on our side, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea to try. These guys tend to make Hell look pretty. They are probably over the moon happy with Metatron if he’s giving them enough to do. Believe me. Metatron isn’t going to have the time to drag Cas up to use him against us, either, or order anybody to do anything to him. Unless Metatron is down there with him when we make a move-“ Gabriel stops, then points at his eldest brother. “Michael, we need to make sure Metatron isn’t down there when we start the party. We can’t give him the time to hole up somewhere.“

It sounds like just another in a long line of points and the nod Michael gives is minute, almost impatient. Sam kind of wishes they haven’t interrupted, because it would have given him the opportunity to watch Michael again, see if he’s still the same kind of leader now that he’s personally invested.

He wonders if Gabriel lets him lead.

He belatedly thinks to wonder if Lucifer does. It’s not much of a question, though; Sam isn’t sure how much they decide together, but he doesn’t doubt Lucifer will stick with Michael in this fight.

He moves from his own brother’s side to walk down the stairs and join the group.

“Do you think you have something that will work?“

“Something promising,“ Gabriel says. “We know how to get into Heaven, but we still don’t know how to catch Metatron with his pants down. Oh, and we have something for you to do, too.“

“And that is?“ Dean asks sceptically, coming in close behind Sam.

“We need to let everyone know Mike is back in the game. We can’t go over the angel radio, too risky and too funky, what with Heaven closed for business, but if you two put out a prayer, believe me, everyone will hear.“

“Forget it,“ Dean snaps. It sounds like a knee-jerk reaction. Sam manages to smooth out his expression before he can frown too visibly, but he can’t help the glance he sends his brother. Dean looks disturbed, even though he’s hiding it under his usual bravado, chin up and a challenging stare at Gabriel. Something is off; not so long ago Dean wouldn’t have any problem using a prayer as a tool.

Gabriel rolls his eyes, which seems to be his favorite expression today.

“I’m not asking you to sell your grandmother’s soul, I’m just asking you to put out a call. Can’t be Kevin, and a regular joe snatched off the street won’t be able to reach everyone. You could.“

“You both have very clear, strong voices,“ Michael adds. “Your involvement would also make it apparent that we’re working together. It could convince those who would otherwise fear we are planning another full-scale war.“

“Dude, you are planning another full-scale war.“

“No. We are planning a single strike. Even if we gained enough followers, we can’t afford a war. Metatron would destroy Heaven rather than surrender.“

“If we do this,“ Sam starts, carefully leaving the ‘if’ there for Dean’s sake, “how do we exclude Metatron from the call?“

Gabriel makes a face, but it’s Michael who responds:

“That isn’t possible. The only option would be to call every angel individually, but it isn’t worth the effort. We don’t know who Metatron’s loyal are going to be. Sooner or later somebody will tell him.“

“That’s one of the small hitches in our plan,“ Gabriel admits. “We can’t do this with just the few angels Hannah can get on our side, but if we put out the call, we’re forcing Metatron to make his move.“

_He already made one,_ Sam wants to say, but he keeps it to himself.

“So, no call until you know how to get him where you want him,“ Dean half-concludes, half-threatens.

“Yes,“ Michael agrees, but his gaze at Dean is piercing.

“We just need to know if you’re with us in this,“ Lucifer says, almost sing-song. “It’s all that matters right now.“

Dean glares at him, obviously displeased with having his own words fed back to him. The corners of Lucifer’s mouth quirk up, but he doesn’t break eye-contact, the challenge clear.

“Yeah, we’re with you,“ Dean confirms at last, and Sam honestly can’t tell if he lies, or if he just doesn’t like being asked to follow someone else’s lead.

The tension doesn’t break.

Lucifer looks at him then, a bit more thoughtful, and Sam is pretty sure he isn’t silently asking for his own choice, but for confirmation of Dean’s.

He forces himself to relax, and to nod a little, and he hates himself for it.

He hates himself more when Lucifer gives him a hint of a relieved smile and relaxes in turn, and when Michael and Gabriel follow.

o.O.o

They aren’t any closer to the solution in the evening, going by the tireless stream of Enochian coming from the war room. When Sam wanders in, into the harsh, headache-inducing light of Gabriel’s illusion map, they still seem to be arguing, loud and talking over each other with abandon in their drive to plan a coup.

It’s not so hard to see now that Michael really has changed. For one, he’s not asking questions anymore, or if he is, Sam isn’t able to distinguish them. But he seems to have lost the stick up his ass, too. Oh, he still keeps himself straight – the day he slouches the world will end for good or something – but his posture has lost the unnatural rigidity of a puppet. He’s alive within his body now, focused and intense, and the other two mirror him, whether they want to or not.

Gabriel in particular clearly doesn’t want to. It’s funny to watch: He makes an unimpressed grimace or a quip every once in a while in an apparent attempt to break himself from the mold, but before he knows it, he’s drawn back into the rhythm of the others’ speech, seeming every time somehow lighter for it.

And there really is a rhythm to the flow of the discussion, a weird, halting pace like hoofbeats of a horse which is missing a leg. It takes Sam an embarrasingly long time to notice the angels aren’t talking over each other as much as filling the gaps between each other’s words, and either they don’t care at all what the others have to say, or they have no trouble speaking a sentence and following two more at once.

From that it isn’t too much of a jump to realize the rhythm is off because the pattern is designed for four. That’s why Gabriel stands directly across the table from Lucifer and not between Lucifer and Michael, leaving the space by Michael’s left hand empty. That’s why this never happened when Cas was around.

Because Cas isn’t one of them. Cas isn’t the one who is missing here. Cas is just one of their many younger siblings and neither of the three has a reason to be particularly fond of him.

Watching them stand around and talk around the space where Raphael should be, Sam finally understands that Dean was right: They can’t be trusted to care whether Cas lives or dies.

Castiel killed Raphael and left a hole in their lives that can never be filled.

He breathes out and leans more solidly against the wall at his back, trying to push down the uneasiness creeping into his shoulders.

This is the breaking point.

They can’t do what the angels want from them, he and Dean. They can’t openly move against Metatron, because the moment they do, it’s far too likely he will kill Cas just to spite them. Maybe they could try to play it on both sides, convince Metatron they’re just waiting for the right moment to strike, but that wouldn’t work for long.

There aren’t many other options. It’s not as if being back to their old team was an automatic game over, Dean was right about that, too. Maybe they would even manage to convince Gabriel or even Gadreel to work with them, at least until Metatron is dealt with and Michael and Lucifer safe again. What would happen after that… is an issue for another day.

The thought of betraying Lucifer turns Sam’s stomach anyway.

And that is really stupid.

Lucifer doesn’t deserve loyalty, least of all his. He’s the Devil, for crying out loud. A mass‑murderer, a torturer, the enemy of humanity. Despite everything they’d talked about, despite all those bits of information that made Sam see him in a different light, even giving him a grudging second chance is a questionable decision. Anything more should be unimaginable.

Except that Sam doesn’t have to imagine it, he lives it. He wants, he thirsts for Lucifer to be better, to be trustworthy, to be willing and capable of change, because-

He doesn’t want to look at the ‘because’. He wants the game they play, the challenge, the thrill. Damn, he even wants those weird philosophical discussions of theirs, the opportunity to stretch his brain without being laughed at for it. He doesn’t want to analyze any of it too deep.

But the time is up. Cas’s life is at stake and Sam doesn’t have a choice. So he sets his jaw, looks at Lucifer across the room, and forces himself to admit-

He never felt more whole than when he was possessed by Lucifer.

And isn’t that a truth that sits in his gut like a chunk of rancid meat. But there is a part of him that once accepted Lucifer as his other half, a part that wanted to become one with him, to soothe his grief and share his power and destroy everything in their path, everyone who’d ever hurt them. He can deny it all he wants but a part of him insists that Lucifer was right then and he is right now: Sam is Lucifer’s True Vessel because he’s his near perfect mirror.

He craves Lucifer’s redemption because it gives him hope for his own.

And Lucifer, the same Lucifer who tore him into pieces and laid him open to see what makes him tick, knows that.

There really isn’t a reason to believe he isn’t using that knowledge.

The angel knows human souls just enough to know how to twist them. How to take the best of them and make the worst out of it. How to use every single weakness.

He is the master of temptation.

The ‘why’ of it is a little less obvious, but Lucifer pretty much admitted he was bored when he first came to Sam, freshly released from his prison.

As if he hasn’t tried to destroy Sam out of simple curiosity once already.

Sam grits his teeth, suddenly furious. Mostly with himself.

Across the room Lucifer turns his head and meets his gaze and in the harsh light of the illusion there isn’t anything remotely human in his eyes. It’s more than Sam can handle. In one jerky movement he pushes himself straight and turns away, long strides carrying him into the library and down the nearest corridor.

Behind him, the heated debate trails off.

Then there are footsteps hurrying after him and they only make him walk faster. It doesn’t help him: There’s a hitch in the rhythm of those footsteps and a breath of misplaced air and he whirls around before the presence suddenly close at his back even fully registers.

“Sam, what it is?“ Lucifer asks, sounding soft and worried and real, and several things happen in Sam’s head at once.

He thinks _What are you doing to me, you bastard,_ and he thinks _I’m losing you,_ and he thinks _I wanted to believe you just a little while longer, because I wanted, I wanted-_

He reaches for Lucifer, bunches the fabric of his shirt in his fists, and twists and pushes with all his strength. Even then Lucifer doesn’t as much lose his balance as allow for the step back that brings him against the wall, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because Sam has him where he wants him, because he can see Lucifer’s eyes go wide in surprise, because he can-

He gives another shove and then he leans forward and crushes their mouths together.

Lucifer’s lips part for him almost immediately and he takes full advantage of it, knowing he has only seconds to take what he wants before Lucifer gets his bearings and turns the tables on him.

Sam thinks, bitterly, desperately, as much as he’s able to think at all, that he can give him this victory when he’ll have to betray him soon anyway.

Seconds pass.

Lucifer doesn’t make his move.

In fact, he doesn’t move at all, remains utterly passive under Sam’s hands and mouth.

The wrongness of it finally cuts through the dull roaring in Sam’s head, makes him resurface for air and for a questioning glance at Lucifer.

Lucifer, who is staring at him in utter shock, his mouth kissed red and hanging open, his eyes impossibly wide. It’s enough to stop Sam from plunging back in. It’s enough to make him frown, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for Lucifer to get on with the program and seize his chance to take whatever it was he was aiming for with this whole charade.

Lucifer closes his mouth. Swallows. Blinks. Remains where he is, pressed between a wall and Sam’s bulk as if the slightest move could shatter the reality around him, and Sam realizes, slowly, painfully, that this isn’t like Lucifer at all. He’s a fighter, a rebel long ago forced to learn to take care of himself, to roll with surprises and think on his feet.

Unless the one to get a jump on him is somebody he trusts.

Sam’s fingers go lax in the fabric of Lucifer’s shirt. The chest underneath the few layers of clothing is faintly warm but unnaturally still and Sam gulps.

There was no evil plan.

There was no seduction, either, that’s more than clear. And that’s hardly fair, that simply doesn’t make sense; what else could it be, what else could Lucifer expect, when he-

When he touched Sam as if every brush of skin on skin was a new and exciting experience.

_Shit._

This whole time, Sam was so busy suspecting Lucifer of the worst and then convincing himself he has everything under control that he failed to consider what Lucifer as much as openly told him.

This is only the second time Lucifer has a body.

The first time he is safe enough to take his time exploring it.

Taste.

Touch.

There wasn’t anything sexual in it at all.

Sam releases him as if burned, takes a quick step back.

“Shit. I’m so sorry.“

Lucifer blinks at him, a little more present but still bewildered. Runs the tip of his tongue over his lips, chasing the taste, and it’s innocent and tempting and wrong.

“I’m so sorry. I thought-“ As if it matters what he thought. As if he could say anything without sounding like yet another ‘I knew you wanted it’ asshole. He of all people shouldn’t have forgotten he’s dealing with an angel.

“It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.“

Lucifer frowns, just a little, just about ready to start asking questions, and Sam can’t handle that. Not now.

He backs off another few steps, his hands held up in a gesture of surrender, then turns and escapes as quickly as he can without outright running.

Lucifer doesn’t try to call him back.

o.O.o

Lucifer stays where he is, still leaning against a wall where Sam pushed him.

His lips tingle and he presses the pad of his thumb against them, but the sensation is not the same, it's not the same at all.

His thoughts feel sluggish and he doesn't bother trying to make them form faster; there's enough time. Sam may have run from him, which is as confusing as the rest of the encounter, but he ran towards his room. He's not going anywhere.

Which is good, because Lucifer has a lot to go through.

He had no idea a body can feel this way.

He had no idea it can feel without his say-so. That it can overwhelm him with sensation that is alien to him in its nature and prevent him from blocking it. That something as simple as physical closeness can change into a barrage of touch and taste and smell and break him open, leave him shaken to his core.

He hopes that it's only Sam who can sidestep his defenses like this, because even one person who can do this to him is one person too many.

And yet.

It’s _Sam_. His True Vessel, the man promised to him since the dawn of human history to make him whole, to make him grow. The one man he will always crave like the desert craves the rain: not because it couldn’t exist without it, but because it yearns to be transformed.

Some days he thinks he’d accept anything from Sam. Let him destroy him, reform him, make him into something new.

He knows better than to give in to that particular temptation. However exceptional he is, Sam is still human, so being recreated in his image isn’t an idea Lucifer is comfortable with.

But this. This widening of horizons, this plunge into sensation. This unexpected, enticing possibility of closeness.

He’s tempted, so very tempted to let Sam break him open just a little bit further.

o.O.o

That night, Sam doesn’t even bother to prepare for bed. He’s not getting any sleep anyway, too busy planning.

Or maybe just too busy being mortified by what he did. If Lucifer was anyone else – if Lucifer was a man – it wouldn’t be such a big deal. He made a mistake, he apologized for it. At worst, he’d get a guy either thorougly uncomfortable around him or sorely tempted to clock him in the face the next time he sees him. But Lucifer…

Sam isn’t even sure how many lines he crossed, kissing him.

Attacking him, pretty much. There’s no use denying there was as much aggression as attraction that made him act, and it doesn’t really help that he assumed Lucifer will be able to give as good as he got.

He assumed way too many things about Lucifer those past few weeks. It feels as if he spent the whole time since his return in a haze of self-delusion, alternating between paranoia and wishful thinking and peppering it all with an unhealthy dose of reckless decisions. That is all gone now, the fog burned away by shock and embarrassment, allowing him to at least attempt to think everything through with a clear head.

He hopes the clarity isn’t another illusion. But even though he’s doing his best not to fall for the other extreme – assuming Lucifer is innocent in everything just because he was innocent in this, seeing him as better than he is because he was wronged – he can’t help but come to a single conlusion: Lucifer is being genuine in his bid for a second chance. Not because he’d behave flawlessly ever since his return, but because he _doesn’t_. Because he makes mistakes, he pushes where he shouldn’t, because he argues his points, because he’s just as stubborn and prideful as ever, instead of going for what Sam wants to hear, what he wants him to be (and Sam doesn’t doubt for a second that he could, that he knows him enough to play him like a fiddle). But he also learns, he keeps an open mind even though it clearly costs him. He respects Sam’s boundaries, even though it sometimes takes a lot to make him realize that yes, those are Sam’s boundaries and for a damn good reason.

He’s trying.

It’s shouldn’t be enough, not after everything Lucifer’s done. But they are poster boys for mistakes that shouldn’t be forgivable, he and Dean and Cas, they’re all on their second and third and fourth chances and still not giving up on doing better, so Sam really isn’t the right guy to judge.

The problem is, it doesn’t change the threat hanging over Cas. It just makes the thought of betrayal even harder to stomach. If they could get Lucifer and Michael in on it, turn it on Metatron somehow – but he’d have to get Dean to agree to it, and then the angels, and if not the former, the latter seems almost impossible. They don’t have any other argument than that they care about Cas enough to risk everything for him, and frankly, once the cat is out of the bag, the worst they can threaten with is breaking the alliance.

Which isn’t going to have enough weight, considering they’ve been next to useless so far. What little chance there was Lucifer would be inclined to do it just for him (and for the thrill of the risk), he probably just shot it all to Hell by forcing something way too human on him.

He definitely has some more apologizing and explaining to do.

How messed up is it that he hates the idea of Lucifer looking at him with disgust?

And how messed up is it that he kissed the guy – would take him to bed if it went that way – and doesn’t even think he should care what his would-be lover thinks about him?

The distraction of a knock on his door just then is almost welcome. It’s probably Kevin; Dean almost never knocks without calling his name and the angels can’t be expected to knock at all; even Cas still has trouble with the concept and forgets half the time.

Sam straightens where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, doing his best to appear as if he was up this late for no particular reason (which is going to work, because Kevin tends to lose track of time anyway and has more than enough practise ignoring Winchester drama) and calls: “Yeah!“

It’s not Kevin.

Lucifer stands at the threshold, his face inscrutable, and Sam freezes in a momentary panic. Not now, he doesn’t want to have that talk now-

“Sam.“

He flinches at the softness of Lucifer’s voice, the tone of mild reproach. But it breaks the spell, allows him to notice a few things.

Lucifer doesn’t look angry. He appears calm, composed, thoughtful.

He so very carefully stays where he is, doesn’t invade Sam’s space, and it’s enough to shame Sam into blurting: “Come in.”

He may be wrong, but he thinks Lucifer looks pleased as he steps into the room and closes the door behind him, even though he still leaves enough distance between them.

“Sorry. I was just thinking about going to sleep, actually.“

Lucifer’s gaze on him grows heavier at the lie. “No, you weren’t.“

Sam tenses, ready to argue, then lets go with a sigh.

“No, I wasn’t,“ he admits. “I was just- Look. I’m sorry. I misunderstood, and that was all my fault. You never gave me reason to think you want anything more- Anything more than simple touch, but from a human point of view, it looked a lot like flirting. I mean, even if it was flirting, I shouldn’t’ve-“

And now he’s babbling. Great.

“-done that,“ he finishes lamely, feeling like a sixteen year old, and runs his hands through his hair. “Let me try that again. I’m sorry I kissed you without making sure you’re on the same page. It was wrong, and I’m really sorry.“

Lucifer’s expression doesn’t betray anything and Sam can’t bear to look at it for too long.

“It was unexpected,“ Lucifer allows eventually, letting each word out mindfully as if it needed to be tested first.

Sam huffs, still not looking at him. “Yeah, I got that.“

There’s silence from Lucifer. Sam can feel his eyes boring into him.

“I didn’t say I hold it against you.“

That’s enough to make Sam lift his head. Lucifer’s expression is still painfully neutral, his eyes piercing.

“I just never thought this is something I can get from you,“ Lucifer finishes, laying each word down gently. It’s not wistful, or anything else, really. Matter-of-fact, maybe.

Sam has no idea what to say to that.

When Lucifer moves, steps closer, he shifts on the bed to keep eye contact. Fists his hands in the covers, feeling his heartbeat pick up, because second chances or not, that unhurried prowl still spells danger. He has to force himself to remain sitting, to look up at Lucifer despite every instinct screaming at him to meet him standing and preferably with a weapon in reach.

Whatever point Lucifer wants to make here, he deserves the chance after today.

Then the bed dips under one knee, then a second, and then there is an angel straddling his thighs and all the air vanishes from the room, leaving his throat dry and his head dizzy.

He doesn’t understand.

His hands, he notices, flew up on their own accord to grasp Lucifer’s hips, grounding them both, and the angel’s form is at once wonderfully solid and too firm. Perched there, he doesn’t seem to have trouble with balance; the hands he laid on Sam’s shoulders in turn are light, more for the sake of touch than support.

Sam swallows, his nerves alight with anticipation no matter how sternly he tries to tell himself this is some sort of a lesson, not foreplay. His gaze flickers to Lucifer’s mouth, narrow and just a little dry, and he wants more than anything to make it kiss-swollen again.

“Sam.“ And there’s no one, no one else, who says his name so softly, with such weight, as if having Sam’s full focus on him was all he wanted in life. “I know enough about sex to know this isn’t something you do with someone you can’t overpower, unless you trust them not to hurt you – or unless you want to get hurt.“

The words are probably important. Very important. But Sam can’t for the life of him decipher their meaning, too busy pouring every ounce of his willpower into holding himself still. At least until he feels Lucifer’s hands travel up the sides of his neck, up into his hair, catching his head in a grip that is at once unbelievably careful and inescapable.

“Sam.“

And Sam can’t help the jerk of his muscles, the aborted attempt to draw Lucifer closer, but Lucifer won’t be moved. He’s looking stern now, his eyes deep and unforgiving like winter sea.

“Do you trust me, or do you want to get hurt?“

Sam exhales, the question lancing through him.

Two impossible options.

But Lucifer is right there, unmoving, waiting, asking permission – oh, hopefully asking permission – and Sam’s mind is made before he knows it, the decision barely making it into his consciousness before his eyes slide shut and he strains against Lucifer’s hold to get just a little bit closer.

Lucifer’s fingers could just as well be made of metal if not for the faint warmth of them.

“Sam.“ And that is definitely a reproach, making Sam blink up at him, uncertain he didn’t misunderstand again. Already halfway horrified he did.

“I need to hear it,“ Lucifer tells him, gentle and maybe, just maybe, not as sure as he’s trying to act, and that’s the final drop.

“I trust you in this,“ Sam says, and his heart definitely shouldn’t be swelling so much with the need to reassure, with regret he can’t give more than this (not yet).

Lucifer takes it all, the confirmation and the limitation, and then he slowly bends down to Sam – and leans into him, forehead against forehead, and if he still seems made of metal rather than of flesh, there’s a hum of an unknown engine somewhere deep in him.

Shaking. He’s shaking, soft enough for it to be almost imperceptible, and whatever scrap of recklessness there remained in Sam, it dies in him right in that moment, replaced by protectiveness and breath-taking awe and tenderness so fierce it terrifies him.

He is the one being trusted here.

He wishes he could say anything, do anything to calm Lucifer down, but he can’t find the words and he can’t move, afraid even a simple caress would be too much.

In the silence, his world slowly narrows down to the rhythm of Lucifer’s breathing, every gust of air fanning across his face slightly cool. Eventually he relaxes, shifts his head just so, resting the bridge of his nose against Lucifer’s. Dares to let his thumbs start to draw soft circles across Lucifer’s hipbones, hoping to ground him, soothe him.

It’s Lucifer who changes the angle and delves for an open-mouthed kiss this time, and Sam who opens up to him without resistance, and it’s careful and fragile and determined and oh so very slow, starting with nothing more than a thorough exploration of lips, shape and texture and touch.

Sam lets out a sound low in his throat, somewhere between a moan and a whine, and Lucifer shudders and runs the tip of his tongue over Sam’s upper lip. Sam repays him with a hint of teeth on his lower lip and then he draws away just so he could skim his hands up Lucifer’s front and across his shoulders and bury his fingers into the coarse hair at the nape of his neck. Lucifer arches into it, the movement abrupt and involuntary as if he was touched by live wire, his eyes falling shut, and Sam bites back a groan and stills, afraid it was too much.

But Lucifer’s eyes snap open the next instant, nothing but want in them, and then he’s kissing Sam again, clumsy but fierce, taking every shred of experience he can have and more than a few he shouldn’t yet if the way he’s shivering at every sweep of tongue and every caress is anything to go by; outright growling at Sam when he tries to slow down for his sake.

It’s enough to drive Sam wild, to make him touch and grasp and explore, to make him burrow into Lucifer as deep as Lucifer will let him, reveling in the warm mouth and the cold breath that reminds him every few seconds that there’s something cosmic and untouchable at the core of the person in his lap. Lucifer tastes like electricity and salt and ice and something darker beneath and Sam can’t get enough of him, completely lost to sensation.

It’s only much later, when Lucifer finally breaks apart, shaking too hard to go on, and Sam simply holds his arms, waiting for him to compose himself, that he realizes that they’ve spent what seems like hours kissing. Neither of them lost a single piece of clothing; Sam still doesn’t know how is the skin under Lucifer’s shirt going to feel if he ever gets to touch it.

It’s the single most intimate act he experienced in years.

When Lucifer climbs to his feet, not too steady, and looks like every human language he can speak deserted him, Sam is tempted to ask him if he’s alright, but he doesn’t think Lucifer’s pride would thank him.

“Goodnight, Lucifer,“ he says instead, as calm and soft and warm as he can make it, and he hopes he isn’t lying to himself again that there’s something like relief and answering warmth in Lucifer’s expression when he takes it as a leave to go sort himself out.

They have a short time until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The warning for a consent issue: Just a case of surprise kissing that doesn’t end too well. The issue is addressed later in the chapter.
> 
> The details for people who aren’t comfortable with sex scenes: The scene with surprise kissing isn’t very detailed. Last scene of the chapter contains some more kissing, this time way more enthusiastic and explicit and as intense as I could make it. If you’d rather skip any of that, let me know, I’ll give you details so that you don’t lose the character/relationship development.
> 
> And now for one of my semi-regular questions. Did Sam’s thoughts and emotions in this chapter make sense, or was anything too abrupt or confusing? I lost count of how many times I rewrote chunks of this chapter to make it somehow work and I’m still not sure I managed. (Don’t be afraid to let me know if your answer is ‘no’.)  
> The same for Lucifer, please?


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you, guys. I let you wait 65k words of a Samifer story for some actual Samifer and then give you one and a bit of a kiss scene, and I get complimented for it. I’m so damn proud you’re the kind of readers I attracted. And let’s not forget all the ideas and the gentle bits of constructive criticism I got for the last chapter. I’m a very happy writer.

The most fascinating thing about the breakfast the day after is that they all gather for it again, even Michael who doesn't eat. It's a surprisingly relaxed affair, filled with idle chatter and easy banter, most of it courtesy of Dean and Gabriel. This is how it must feel when people are visiting some distant relatives - people you don't necessarily want to have in your life on a regular basis, but enjoy seeing every once in a while.

Of course, you don’t usually make out with your relatives. Or at least Sam doesn’t think so.

Lucifer looks smug, once more getting a taste of everything he can get his hands on and occasionally coming up with a quip of his own to join or counter his younger brother, and Sam takes it as proof that he's fine. Which is good, which is more than good, because Sam wants more of what they shared during the night.

He gets a little distracted with the thought, actually.

"So."

Sam startles as Gabriel's voice cuts through his thought processes, some of which aren't exactly breakfast-appropriate, and looks at him with alarm. Thankfully, Gabriel seems to be adressing everybody, not just him and Lucifer.

Satisfied once he has everyone's attention, Gabriel continues easily: "Kinda curious. Who else was offered the world for one or a few of the others?"

They all stare at him in complete and utter silence, until Gabriel rolls his eyes. Theatrical as always, but when he looks back at them, his gaze is sharp and clear and far too knowing.

" _Divide et impera_ , guys. One of the oldest tricks in the books. I should know, I used it often enough - with spectacular results, I might add. Come on, don't play dumb with me. Metatron knows I hate his guts. I could't be his only choice."

After a long tense moment, Lucifer is the first one who moves, leans back against the backrest of his chair. It's such a small shift, but frozen to the spot as everyone else is, he immediately has their full attention. He gives a tiny, ironic smile.

"Free reign on Earth for Michael," he says lightly. "I didn't give him my answer yet, of course."

Gabriel just grins at him approvingly. Michael – Michael doesn’t look surprised at all, but whether it’s because he knew, or because half of his moods don’t show on his face anyway, Sam can’t tell.

"Sonofabitch," Dean swears quietly, and Sam holds his breath.

If there was a way to make Dean tell the truth and try to cooperate, Gabriel found it. But it’s still risky, they still aren’t in a position to demand anything – on the other hand, everybody will know to be careful now, so even if they don’t tell, the result might be the same.

Dean's lips curl in distaste.

"Yeah. Lucifer and Michael for Cas. He stopped us on the way back. How did he even talk to you?"

Gabriel shrugs. "Not so hard to convince some poor sap to pray _really loudly_ to an angel of choice. And use a few interesting words to catch our attention. Anybody else?"

"No," Michael says at the same time as Kevin shakes his head.

Gabriel takes it all into account, then smirks at Michael. "Sorry, bro, you're the target numero uno. I got you to deliver to Metadouche in return for help with revenge on you," he points a cheerful finger at Lucifer, "and a guaranteed headstart on Earth, whatever I please to do with the chance." He sighs. “So straightforward. I’m almost disappointed.“

“Maybe not so straightforward,“ Sam joins in. “He offered us Gadreel to sweeten the deal.“

Gabriel whistles. "Trouble in Paradise, huh?"

“Yeah. The bastard’s gonna get what he deserves one way or another,” Dean half growls. “So now what? Because we’re still not risking Cas.“

“And you think Metatron will start sending fingers the moment you piss him off too much,“ Gabriel nods.

“At best,“ Sam confirms. He’s aware of Lucifer’s heavy gaze on him. He’s doing his best to ignore it.

“So we either need to put out the call in some other way, or make sure Cas is safe first,“ Gabriel concludes as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Both Winchesters barely have the time to begin to stare at him before Michael comes with the more expected: “Why?“

Unsurprised by the hunters’ twin glares, he calmly meets Sam’s.

“I have warned you that Metatron can get any number of hostages against you. Will you jeopardize the mission for any one of them? I’m aware of the bond you both have to Castiel, but Castiel is only one angel. He isn’t worth the risk.“

“Maybe for you,“ Dean spits.

“Castiel would tell you the same,“ Michael counters with utter conviction. “As unreliable as he is, he only ever gave up on a mission when he lost faith in the mission itself. Never out of fear for himself, no matter the odds. Do you think he would thank you for putting his safety before the safety of both Heaven and Earth?“

Dean sputters something uncomprehensible, gearing up for a proper reply, but Gabriel shakes his head with a wry grin.

“Give up.“

Sam turns to glare at him, but Gabriel isn’t looking at Dean. He’s looking at Michael.

“Convincing either of these two chuckleheads not to do stupid things? Been there, tried that, came out of it wanting to throw myself into Mount Doom. Repeatedly. But hey, last time they were too stubborn for their own good, they saved the Earth. I’m all for letting them try with one angel. We could even help them? Maybe? I kind of like the little guy.“

The look he gives both Michael and Lucifer, but mainly Lucifer, is an artful mix of flippancy and puppy dog eyes. Lucifer very nearly smiles at him, a little fond, a little dry.

“You love all of our little siblings,“ he amends. “Something about getting to be the admired big brother for a change, I think.“

Instead of a snappy remark, Gabriel reddens around the ears. “Shuddup." He takes a moment to get his dignity back after that, not very successfully. "The kid’s got spunk, is all. And enough stupidity to match these two. Come to think of it, he’s still the little seraph that could. Screw destiny and save humanity, in this case. Hate to break it to you, Mikey, but when this is all over, you’re not gonna get to rule the orderly little Heaven you’re used to. Our folks discovered free will. It makes half of them panic and the other half try to beat everybody else into submission, but they have it and they know it. Bet some of them even like it. Not gonna get that puddle of spilled milk back into the jug. You’ll need somebody who has some experience with thinking for himself. And just between us two – it’s not you. It’s really not, mister ‘what if I just sneezed against Dad’s will’.“

Michael considers him, his eyes narrowed in thought.

“How about you?“

Gabriel tenses, remains silent for a hearbeat of two, then tells him flatly: “You don’t want them to learn from me.“

“And I don’t think you’d find many who would be willing to learn from me,“ Lucifer adds with a strange little smile. “So we save Castiel. How? Unlike either of you, I've seen Heaven's prison from the inside – and studied it from the outside as much as I could get away with. There aren't any weak spots, there aren't any shortcuts to get there faster. I wouldn't have been surprised if the spell ejecting everybody else from Heaven hadn't reached there."

"It did," Sam remarks. "It realeased Gadreel."

Lucifer flashes him a significant look. "Yes, I know. That's why I think you're right with your theory that it's an evacuation spell. As long as you're in there - as long as you're in Heaven - you're still one of the Host. Cared for, even if it doesn’t look like it. You’re not supposed to lose hope."

He doesn't bother to hide the old bitterness in his tone, but it's fainter than Sam would expect.

Gabriel hums, his whole face scrunched thoughtfully. “We don’t need to free him just yet. If we could somehow hide him, or prevent anybody from reaching him, hurting him – heck, the kid’s tough as nails, as long as he doesn’t end up dead or crippled worse than he is, he’ll be fine eventually.”

“I don’t see how that is easier,“ Michael counters.

“Maybe it is,“ Dean says slowly. “How about one of your illusions? If there were a few Castiels running around here, or around Heaven, it could give Metatron something to do. If you could somehow hide the real Cas…”

Gabriel nods. “Just might have a way to do something about it. But, we won’t know if it worked until we can pick him up. You sure you can live with that?“

Dean presses his lips into a flat unhappy line, letting the silence drag on for a long while.

“If it’s the best we can come up with. I say we give it a day, try to come up with a better plan.“

“We don’t have much time to call on the others,“ Michael reminds them. “We need to know our forces for the attack.“

Dean fixes him with a sharp glare. “We have a day.“

It takes a few moments, but in the end Michael inclines his head.

“As you wish.“

o.O.o

The others slowly disperse after that, the remainders of their meals forgotten.

Lucifer stays, leaning against the backrest, thumb slowly rubbing across his lower lip.

Nothing can ever be simple between them, can it? The thought that throughout yesterday, Sam had to be considering giving him to Metatron… well.

Lucifer is morbidly curious whether he would, in the end.

He knew, of course, that no matter how close they get, Sam will always choose Dean over him, the same way Lucifer would choose Michael. But that Sam would give him up for Castiel, the angel who’d wandered into the Winchesters’ lives as Heaven’s puppet and opted instead to stay – that rankles.

He’d underestimated Castiel.

As much as he overestimated what happened yesterday, it seems. Which is a stupid mistake, really. The whole of it came from Sam seeing him too human. Lucifer knew that, and yet he had to go and make the same mistake, just in the opposite direction.

It makes sense that what’s happened between them can’t be as important to Sam as it is to Lucifer. Lucifer is barely used to having a body. He isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to the sensations Sam can stir in him, every touch searing through layers of skin and flesh right to his Grace, setting the whole of him alight and alive and not a little terrified. He already knows he’s not going to let anybody else this close, ever. Not because he trusts Sam with his life, he can’t quite afford that, but because Sam already knows him inside out.

There’s no reason to hide this vulnerability from him.

But Sam, Sam isn’t vulnerable in this. He has had lovers. More importantly, it’s nothing unusual for him to have a body. Sexuality might come with intense sensations and urges to him, but it will never be so completely alien and overwhelming to him as it is to Lucifer.

It makes Lucifer want to repay him, intensity for intensity. To take him and plunge him into sensation so all-encompassing the world falls away. To make him soar, to make him fall, to make him forget himself and fall apart and be born again, to give him a taste of the creation and destruction and recreation of the Universe in the space of a breath. To take everything from him and give him more than he ever dreamed of, to etch himself into every piece of Sam’s soul so that he can never be the same, ever again.

Which is and isn’t what Sam is doing to him in turn. Because this is sometimes how it feels, following Sam’s light and shedding old truths like snakeskin, but at the same time, ever since the Cage, Sam lets him control the pace.

He’s careful with him the way Lucifer isn’t with himself. Even yesterday, he drew back whenever it became too much, often before Lucifer would admit he needs the time to compose himself. He doesn’t know what to make of that kind of gentleness. Especially because he isn’t blind, so he sees the aggression and the mistrust in Sam, too.

And then there’s the matter of today’s revelations. The potential of betrayal – and Lucifer isn’t fool enough to think it can’t happen yet, despite Gabriel’s effort.

The worst about it isn’t the betrayal itself, as strange as that might be. It’s the thought that Sam is kind to him because he’s _Sam_ and he would be kind to anybody. The thought that he considered giving him up for Castiel.

Either Castiel means much more to him than Lucifer thought, or Lucifer himself means to him very little.

And that is the possibility that makes Lucifer’s blood boil, his Grace run cold in fury.

He can take being hated, mistrusted, feared if he has to. None of those emotions scare him anymore, not even from Sam, especially if he can also have Sam’s curiosity and desire, his concern, his provocations, his understanding.

But he can’t – he won’t – take being unimportant.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beauty of writing just for fun is that I can suddenly decide to have a chapter from the POV of a couple of minor characters, even though up until now I kept everything in Sam’s, Lucifer’s and occasionally Michael’s POV. I hesitated for a good long while, but in the end I decided that while the story would work perfectly well without them, these are the scenes I would want to read if it was someone else’s story, which in turn made me want to write them, and there simply wasn’t enough reason to keep them to myself. So here you are. Enjoy.

Contrary to Castiel’s expectations, his main impression of Heaven’s prison is… frustrating.

Time here moves slow like barely molten wax, dragging from one moment to the next. There’s nothing to do but sit and wait; conserve energy and, when Metatron deigns to visit him, try to push him into revealing something of his plans.

So far, Metatron seems amused by his attempts, not at all prone to revelatory villainous speeches. It gives Castiel hope that the Scribe isn’t yet certain of his victory.

Or that he at least has plans for him that prevent him from giving up too much information.

The best Castiel can do, then, is try to misdirect him whenever he tries to taunt him into revealing anything about Castiel’s few remaining allies.

It’s a tedious but necessary job. It makes him wonder when will Metatron change strategy and choose a more direct approach to obtaining information, but so far nobody dragged him from his cell to torture him, or to try Naomi’s methods of interrogation and control.

It’s too much to hope that the skill was lost to the Host with Naomi’s death.

In the end, the change of strategy doesn’t come in the form of a torturer, but in the form of a lone angel, coming to a halt at a careful distance from the bars as if he expected Castiel to reach out and grab him if he dared to come too close.

Castiel gives him a sharp look and doesn’t bother to hide his distrust and anger.

“Gadreel.“

o.O.o

Castiel looks… unharmed. That maybe shouldn’t be such a surprise, considering that Metatron prefers using other means to get what he wants than brute force, and that Gadreel failed to recruit any of the skilled torturers for him.

The latter should probably shame him: He put so little effort into the task in their case that he came dangerously close to failing on purpose. But he can’t bring himself to regret it, especially now. Seeing Castiel unbroken and lucid will let him keep a clear head in this conversation, free of the images of other unfortunate prisoners, of his own past. He can’t afford to get blinded by compassion born of false similarity of their predicament.

Though he can allow the rebel leader basic dignity.

“Castiel,“ he acknowledges, because he knows how it feels to have one’s name spoken with contempt or not at all.

Castiel stands, face stern and unmoved. The significance of every shred of respect given in here is lost on him yet, and that’s another thing that lets Gadreel breathe easier, allows him to focus.

“What do you want?“

It’s a natural question, spoken with equally natural hostility. Any other time it would be a warning, a sign of an angel unwilling to see beyond his reputation. Not now. Not here. Gadreel knows how helplessness can transform itself into the need to hurt his jailers at least verbally. He can forgive a lot more than an uncivil tone.

“I promised to hear you out when we met. We were interrupted before you could make your case.“

“By your people,“ Castiel bits out.

“That wasn’t my doing.“

“And I should believe you why?“

Gadreel takes a breath to steady himself.

“I believe,“ he starts firmly, hoping that just this once, his honesty will be convincing enough, “that there must be honor even in matters of war. You asked to meet me alone. I was going to honor your request. I don’t know how-“

He pauses; to reveal the full extent of his thoughts feels somehow traitorous.

Castiel narrows his eyes at him, some of his animosity gone, or at least hidden.

“You don’t know whether Metatron spied on me or on you.“

Gadreel grinds his teeth and refuses to answer, knowing full well it’s an answer in itself. It was an unpleasant conversation they had on the topic with Metatron afterwards – a conversation that made him fully realize what he had already suspected: that being Metatron’s most trusted isn’t at all the same as being trusted.

Castiel’s demeanor changes, frustration and urgency evident in his whole posture. “Gadreel, don’t you understand? Metatron trusts only himself, he cares only for himself. Whatever he promised you, he’s using you. He’s using your desire for a second chance against you the same way he used my desire to finally do something right for both Earth and Heaven against me. He used me. He did the exact opposite of what he promised me. Why do you think he’ll treat you any better?“

And so it starts. The argument he knew they’ll have. The argument he came to have.

“I already got what he promised me. My second chance. I’m his second-in-command. I have a place in Heaven again.“

“Which he can take from you whenever he likes. You kill for him, you do his dirty work. How many of our siblings will stand by you if he decides to get rid of you?“

“I do what is necessary-“

“Don’t you understand?“ Castiel interrupts him, heedless of the reasons Gadreel holds onto. “How many angels did you convince to join Metatron’s cause just by the promise they can one day return home? Who threw them out of Heaven in the first place? He killed and crippled thousands out of spite and now he’s using the desperation he caused to establish himself as God!”

It’s not surprising, really, that Castiel is one of those unable to see anything good in their opponents. It doesn’t make it less disappointing.

“Metatron is reforming Heaven.“

“That’s not what he told me when he stole my Grace,“ Castiel returns. “And even if he was, reforming to what end? For whose benefit? What is his vision? Has he even told you?”

There isn’t much to say to that. When Metatron speaks of his new Heaven, he speaks of glory, of forming a Heaven as it always should have been, but no amount of curiosity and respectful prodding gets many details from him, save for the recurring theme of only hand-picked angels being allowed in. When he isn’t preoccupied with building the epic story of his victory, Metatron’s vision of Heaven seems to be a Heaven that won’t frustrate him.

It’s a matter of faith to trust such a Heaven will be universally good as well. It’s the kind of faith that would have once come easily to him, Gadreel knows. Not anymore. He is irrevocably damaged by his imprisonment: disillusioned, sceptical. It isn’t Metatron’s fault; Metatron is the one who released him. And yet it is a continuous struggle to at least replace the faith Gadreel owes him with loyalty and obedience.

He is here, after all. Trying to make up his mind. Trying to argue to Castiel what he sometimes has to argue to himself to keep on his chosen path.

“What of your allies?“ he challenges, following the pattern of those inner dialogues. “Do you think them trustworthy?“

Castiel draws a breath through his nose and holds it for a moment, slowly coming down from his righteous zeal.

“I have a reason to believe their bid for a second chance is genuine. They can still turn wrong, but I trust them enough to give them the benefit of the doubt. We all learn, and I believe they are trying.“

The answer is unexpectedly earnest. Unexpectedly touching in its novelty. This isn’t an argument Gadreel thought to make for himself.

“What reasons?“

Castiel hesitates for the first time.

“I’ve tangled with the Cage before, when I thought I’m powerful enough. They claim God is the one who released them. I believe them. I don’t think there’s anybody else who could and would do it.” Castiel’s whole demeanor goes soft, almost shy. “I’ve noticed He has a tendency to raise those any one of us would consider irredeemable. Including myself. Nothing Michael or Lucifer did so far makes me think they intend to waste the chance.”

Gadreel just grits his teeth against the twisted ball of emotions woken up by that, the compassion and the envy, the doubt and the hope.

“Sam says Lucifer told him what happened in the Garden,“ Castiel states suddenly, and Gadreel freezes for a second, caught off guard.

“He lied to me,“ he insists, helplessly furious and knowing he can only wait for whatever lie Castiel believes now.

“He deceived you,“ Castiel agrees. “But if what he said is true, then he didn’t lie. He was just the first of us to choose his own mission.“

Gadreel opens his mouth to protest. Closes it again as the implications hit him. The revelation, and the accusation inherent in it.

“Are you telling me I should have known what he means? That I should have suspected the brightest archangel?“

There’s not much fury in it anymore, just the helplessness. Because of course, no matter how he defends himself, no matter how much of the truth comes out, everyone will always consider it his fault.

“No,“ Castiel tells him, without a trace of doubt. “You couldn’t have known. I’m not sure there was anybody at the time who would have thought to suspect his true meaning. And he counted on it. It wasn’t your fault.“

And Gadreel can’t move. Can’t speak.

Such a simple statement.

He studies Castiel’s face for signs of falseness and finds none. Castiel isn’t dismissing him, humoring him to get what he wants. He believes it. The first angel in Creation other than him and Lucifer to know and believe the full truth.

It very nearly breaks him.

“I gave my word to Metatron,“ he reminds himself as much as Castiel.

“Your mission is more important than your word,“ Castiel returns immediately. “You came to Dean Winchester when he asked for help because you are still a protector. Reclaim your mission, Gadreel. You aren’t protecting anybody by serving Metatron.“

Gadreel almost wishes it was the truth. It should be. But he’d failed his mission long ago, and he already tried to reclaim it by helping the Winchesters and failed again, the taint on his name somehow apparent enough to cost him Dean Winchester’s trust.

He isn’t fit to be a protector anymore. But his word kept him alive and unbroken all those centuries. His truth, his honor remained, even if nobody saw it but him.

He can’t break his word. There would be nothing left of him.

“I’m sorry,“ he says to Castiel, who fumes at him, his lips pressed into a thin, displeased line.

Having nothing more to say, Gadreel leaves.

o.O.o

It isn’t hard to realize Metatron is in a good mood, humming softly and clacking away at his typewriter. Gadreel stops in the middle of the room, waiting silently out of respect that comes less and less easily to him with every passing day.

Metatron lets him wait a good long while, which isn’t anything new, either.

Finally the Scribe lifts his head, fingers still poised over the keys in a perfect picture of a very busy author.

“Gadreel. What is it?“

“What do you intend to do with Castiel?“ he asks outright, because experience has taught him that his superior has little patience for him.

To his surprise, Metatron beams at him.

“Glad you ask. It’s one of my finer plans, if I say so myself.“ Still smiling, he stands up as if he couldn’t contain his excitement. “I’m using him as a bait.“

“A bait,“ Gadreel repeats, narrowing his eyes at him as if he could discern his motives that way.

Metatron rolls his eyes, starting to pace. “Yes, a bait. I offered the Winchesters an exchange? Castiel for Michael and Lucifer? Of course they aren’t my only angle, but just betwen us, this is the one I’m betting on. Those Winchesters? Some may see them as some sort of heroes, but they are just as limited as any humans. Humans never see the big picture, Gadreel. Threaten their family and they’ll do anything. Of course, the other brother always comes first for both of them – you used that against them beautifully – but I have good reason to believe Castiel is a close second. Of course they will betray their so-called allies for him.“

Gadreel balls his fists at his sides and keeps his objections to himself. No matter how he’d like to protest that he didn’t hold Sam’s health over Dean out of malice but out of necessity, or insist that loyalty isn’t a reason for scorn – that being human isn’t a reason for scorn – he knows it would be pointless. Castiel didn’t have to point out for him Metatron doesn’t have respect for anybody but himself, he’s realized it himself a while back. Even his rare praises taste foul as the things he appreciates are almost invariably those Gadreel feels the least proud of.

“How does that make Castiel a bait?“ he asks carefully.

Metatron snorts. “Well _of course_ I can’t let Castiel just go. He’s far too capable of causing trouble. But with the state his Grace is in? It will be easy to get it to the breaking point. So I’ll exchange him for the real troublemakers, let him have his happy reunion, and _boom_! No Castiel. With a bit of luck and good timing? No Winchesters, either. I win. A bit prematurely, I admit, but better safe than sorry. Of course, I will have to spin it a bit differently when telling the story later, but that’s what victors always do anyway.“

Gadreel feels bile rising up his throat.

“You want to use Castiel’s condition against him and make him… self-destruct.“ It takes a lot out of him to keep his voice neutral.

Metatron raises a finger. “Make him self-destruct _at the right moment_ , that’s the important part. It will be a delicate work, but of course, you’re looking just at the angel who can make it happen.“

“Yes,“ Gadreel agrees, forcing the emotion suddenly threatening to overwhelm him under a blanket of numbness. “I am.“

He doesn’t manage as well as he thought, because Metatron is suddenly watching him, annoyed.

“This again? How many times do I need to remind you that we’re in a war and we have to do anything to win?” Gadreel doesn’t protest, not even sure anymore whether he’s trying to take the admonishment to heart or whether he simply doesn’t want to provoke his leader.

Metatron jerks his shoulders, a quick, nervous gesture, and settles against his desk. “Castiel is my creation anyway. I prepared him. I built him up. Now I need to tear him down. It’s a pity, of sorts, but it’s what the story demands.“

He shrugs again, more relaxed, satisfied with Gadreel’s continued silence, or maybe just happy with his own explanation.

As for Gadreel, he just wonders, with cold, detached kind of dread, how could he fail to realize until now that to Metatron, at least his enemies are nothing more than characters in his story. How come he didn't think twice about the way Metatron had talked about Gabriel until he sent Gadreel into the fight over him, even though until that moment Gadreel had no idea Gabriel is alive and not just some kind of illusion, a thing that does exactly as commanded.

He suspects it’s not just enemies, either.

“When you have won,“ he starts, amazed how level his voice sounds, “what will you make of Heaven? What is your vision?“

Metatron smiles a dreamy little smile.

“Oh, it will be glorious. A golden age. Heaven will be what it was always supposed to be. No factions. No petty squabbling. No stupidity.“

Gadreel shakes his head and presses on:

“But what will be our purpose?“

Metatron gives him a look, the kind of look that is supposed to tell Gadreel he is obstinate and asking unnecessary questions. For the first time, Gadreel stares back at him, not willing to be brushed off. To his astonishment Metatron hesitates for just a couple of seconds, then hums thoughtfully.

“Well, I still need to establish myself as the new God. Angels are just the beginning. Angels are easy. Now humans, that will need more than a few miracles. We’ll all be busy for a while.“

And this... this should be natural, not terrifying. This should be good news.

“You want humanity to worship you.“

“Of course!“ Metatron exclaims. “Look at them! They need someone to look up to! They are so chaotic. They create so many stories where everything makes sense, but their lives are such a painful mess. They need something to have in common. A purpose. They need a firm, kind guiding hand.“ But the gesture he makes is a closed, threatening fist, sharply contrasting with his beatific smile as he continues: “Luckily for them, I’m ready to accept the role. They’ll love me. You will see.“

Gadreel barely gathers the breath to ask:

“And if they refuse?“

“Oh, I’ll give them time to come around. A century, maybe. That’s reasonable. But in every story, there will always be good and evil, and they will always fight.” And there it is, the cold, brittle determination that makes Metatron’s voice drop low and shake under the weight of the threat it carries. “I am good, Gadreel. And I have the bigger guns. I _will win_.“

Gadreel draws an unsteady breath and closes his eyes, just for a second. Hoping Metatron will mistake his need to collect himself for being impressed by the future sketched here by a few careless words. The piles of bodies. Crowds of souls not allowed in Heaven because Metatron calls them evil.

If he ever intends to let any new human souls into Heaven, that is.

He forces himself to nod and to appear some approximation of content, if not pleased. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Metatron rubs his hands, too caught up in his own importance to be anything other than oblivious.

“Now, if that’s settled, I have a lot to do.”

Gadreel nods again, relieved he doesn’t have to say anything, and shows himself out.

o.O.o

It occurs to him, as he stands before the entrance to the Bunker, that he may have somehow always counted on ending back here. How else to explain how many times he thought that the Winchesters and their unlikely allies must hide here, but never found the right opportunity to suggest an attack? It would have been so easy. He was once invited in, roamed the corridors thoroughly enough to be able to suggest any number of approaches.

He even knows enough to be able to open the door without a key.

He enters carefully, well aware that he will have to speak quickly once he discovers any of the Bunker’s current inhabitants.

The first one he sees makes him doubt the reality around him.

Kevin Tran doesn’t even look up at the sound of his footsteps, the same way he never did, buried in his notes, and the radiance of his soul, the unmistakable sign of an active Prophet, is tinted with exhaustion and nothing worse.

He doesn’t get near enough time to get his bearings before the Prophet rubs at his eyes and mutters: “Damn, not this again. Do you think you could get me the-“

He looks up to discover who he’s addressing and frowns, no trace of recognition in his expression, only confusion and apprehension.

“Who are you?“ And then, belatedly: “Guys? Guys!“

Gadreel hurriedly lifts his hands. “I mean you no harm.“

“Yeah, I bet,“ Kevin mutters, eyeing him warily, and has enough self-preservation instinct to try to get further away from him, even though Gadreel very deliberately doesn’t move from where he stands at the top of the three steps leading down onto the floor.

Michael arrives first with a flutter of wings, obscuring his view of the Prophet. He’s ready for battle and Gadreel leaves his hands up.

“I’m not here to fight.“

“Aren’t you,“ Lucifer says with a lazy little smirk, standing in the doorway off to the side, his arms folded on his chest. “You realize we can’t let you leave now that you know, don’t you?“

Gadreel thinks of the Prophet, miraculously, impossibly alive, peeking at him from behind Michael with a frown. He thinks of Castiel in his cell, of his conviction and the fate Metatron has in store for him, and responds levelly: “I’m not here on Metatron’s orders and I don’t intend to bring any news back to him.“

“Yeah, good try,“ Dean sneers at him, coming through the opposite doorway, his brother and Gabriel right behind him.

Gadreel presses his lips together, never sure what to do, or feel, about Dean Winchester – the man who promised him safety in return for his brother’s life and never seemed able to let him work on his part of the bargain, let alone trust him enough to keep his own end.

“Why are you here, then?“

It’s Sam Winchester who asks the question, who offers him the chance to speak for himself, and Gadreel’s full attention immediately goes to him.

He looks good. Better rested than Gadreel expected, at the very least, considering what he knows of the man’s habits and memories and the nature of his current allies. But there are still faint shadows around his eyes, slight pallor to his lips that can’t be entirely attributed to the unforgiving artificial light, and Gadreel itches to run his Grace through him, to check on the state of his unfinished work and continue mending what he can.

This man is still his responsibility. He can’t help the impulse, even though at the same time he admits there is a reason behind the wariness in his posture, the readiness of everyone else to interfere. That Sam wants to hear what has has to say, that somehow his reaction is much milder this time than the repulsion and horror he showed last time they saw each other, are unexpected gifts Gadreel is determined not to waste.

His gaze flickers to Dean, knowing he should include him in this, but unavoidably he returns to Sam as he replies:

“I want to help you save Castiel.“


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A year ago, I posted the first story on this account.  
> Happy AO3 birthday to me, and a decently sized chapter to you!

“I want to help you save Castiel.“

Sam freezes, immediately starting to run through all the possibilites. They haven’t told Metatron their decision yet; as a change of strategy, it doesn’t make sense unless Metatron gave up on them accepting his deal. But before he can try to dig deeper, Dean next to him growls:

“Good one. Try again.“

Tension and fury are radiating off him in waves and Sam hesitates; between them two, Dean’s been always less easy to trick. He looks harder, but as much as he knows Gadreel is good at playing roles, he can’t find a trace of deception. The angel looks shaken and almost beseeching as he turns a palm up and again finds Sam’s gaze.

“I know you have little reason to trust me-“

“Understatement, _Zeke_ ,“ Dean bits out.

“I didn’t _know_ ,“ Gadreel plows on and Sam can hardly blame him for the hint of desperation creeping into his tone. “Metatron, he-“

He trails off for a second and this time it’s Gabriel who shows too little patience to let him make his case.

“So I take it you know he made you into a bargaining chip?“

Sam could hug him. As a test and an argument in one, it is perfect. Gadreel blinks, then frowns, for the first time giving the archangel more than a passing glance.

“What do you mean?“

If his confusion isn’t genuine, Sam gives up on being able to read anyone, ever. Gabriel shrugs, obviously enjoying himself.

“Ah, you know how it goes. You really want something, you have to make _leettle_ sacrifices. Like throwing in you, neatly wrapped in a bow, when exchanging those two,“ he points towards Michael and Lucifer as if he wanted to mock-shoot them, “for Castiel.“

Gadreel is silent for a moment, visibly shaken, then he says, slowly: “Then he either intended to take me back or he wants me dead.” He braces himself, slowly getting back his bearings. This time, he addresses both Dean and Sam. “Metatron believes you’ll accept the exchange, but he doesn’t intend to keep his end. He wants to destabilize Castiel’s Grace so that it would explode. He also wants to catch you both in the blast. Probably including myself, it now seems.“

Sam’s heart clenches and then starts to beat faster, the threat to Cas made far too immediate. Even Dean doesn’t find anything to say.

Sam nearly flinches when Michael speaks up.

“We have no reason to trust you aren’t here on Metatron’s command.“ Sam has never heard him speak like this, with cold authority that allows neither doubt nor mercy. “We don’t have any reason to trust you even if Metatron isn’t behind your actions this time. You are a traitor, a murderer, the one angel who dared to raise a hand against a Prophet. You betray and destroy everything that’s good, you stand against our Father at every turn and you have the audacity to deny it. You are a stain, Gadreel.“

Gadreel goes ashen, faltering where he stands, while Kevin jerks and makes a step back.

“ _This_ is Gadreel?“

But Sam’s attention isn’t on either of them. It’s on Lucifer, who has the grace to look slightly sheepish. Very slightly. Maybe Sam’s only seeing what he wants to see.

“You never told him?“ he demands.

Lucifer, at least, realizes the question is aimed at him, because his gaze shortly cuts to Sam before he carefully shrugs.

“It never came up.“

“ _Lucifer_.“

The tone, Sam quickly finds out, was a mistake. Lucifer’s jaw hardens as he turns to meet his gaze fully, angry enough to force Sam curl his fists at his sides and brace himself. Lucifer isn’t one to be pushed into anything, least of all by someone’s righteous indignation. For a second, Sam is split between apologizing and forcing the issue because damn it, he is right.

Sometimes they mirror each other far too well.

It’s that thought that allows Sam to switch gears, try a different approach.

“Don’t you think it could be important?“ he asks as calmly as he can, careful to keep any sort of judgment out of his voice.

Going by the spark that flares in Lucifer’s eyes, it’s not doing all that much.

“It doesn’t change everything else he’s done.“ _To you_ , goes unspoken, and Sam stifles a sigh.

“No, it doesn’t,“ he agrees, because it really doesn’t. “And that everything else is more than enough for us not to trust him from the get go. We don’t need to hold against him something he didn’t do.“

Lucifer measures him for a moment longer, clearly displeased with the whole topic but at least considering it. Then, in a startlingly human gesture, he sighs through his nose and turns to Michael.

“I needed to get to Eden,“ he starts the explanation only an angel will understand.

“He pretty much used a fake badge to get through Gadreel,“ Sam adds quietly for Dean’s and maybe Kevin’s sake. “And Gadreel went to jail for it because everyone thought he was in on it.“

“That’s great,“ Dean replies equally quietly. “But it’s not exactly what I’m holding against him.“

“Yeah, I know.“

Sam chances a glance at Gadreel, but Gadreel seems reluctant to look at any of them – at Sam, as much as he hung on his every word before for some reason, or at the two eldest angels discussing his oldest ‘crime’. As if the clearing of his name didn’t matter anymore, and that sets all the alarm bells in Sam’s head ringing, at least until Gadreel finally dares to look at Kevin, and then uses the first lull in the conversation around him.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you. I was- At the time, I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Killing you was Metatron’s condition for letting me join him. I swear you have nothing to fear from me now. I’ve made mistakes. I’m glad to see at least one of them undone.“

Kevin flinches. Then his expression turns hard.

“It isn’t undone, you jerk. I still died. I had to watch my mom for weeks, putting up a brave front for me-“ He takes a harsh breath, collects himself as much as he can. “Nothing can undo that. You are still a murderer.“

Gadreel actually hangs his head.

“I understand.“

And Sam probably shouldn’t feel bad for him, but he does. If nothing else, it’s kind of new to meet someone capable of showing remorse. Of biting the bullet and saying sorry, not expecting much in return. There’s far too little of that in their group.

“Alrighty, guys,“ Gabriel’s bright voice cuts through his thoughts, “that was nice, but how about we get back to the important stuff? You said you want to help us save little Cassie. Why?“

Gadreel looks pitifully grateful for the change of topic and it’s wrong, because Gadreel is capable of the same unrelenting pride Lucifer has, and when that fails, he can keep an aloof mask with the best of them. It’s as if he had very little reserves left. As if he gave up on everything save for whatever it is that keeps him upright.

Or as if he aimed for pity, as little as it fits the mental picture Sam has of him. He needs to remember that all he knows about him except for the facts of his actions are vague impressions. Gadreel hid well within him.

“Castiel made me think. Metatron, he… He admitted to me, he wants to move against humanity. He wants humanity to worship him and he won’t hesitate to wipe out everyone who doesn’t. I can’t be a part of that.“

“So why didn’t you bring him with you? You were in Heaven, he is in Heaven, why not spring him out and come with him in tow? Believe me, you’d get a much warmer welcome that way.“

“I could get Castiel out of Heaven, but I wouldn’t be able to safely bring him here. At this time, most of Metatron’s forces are stationed here on Earth. Once out of Heaven, we will be hunted. I need backup.“

“So you want us to let you back in Heaven, even though you know about Kevin,“ Dean picks up after Gabriel. “And you want us all out of the Bunker.“

“It’s the only chance. I presume that if any of you could stabilize Castiel’s Grace, you would have done so already. Metatron is skilled at what he does, he has information not available to anybody else. Do you believe you can save Castiel after his intervention?“

There’s a long, long pause. Gadreel blinks, takes them in, seemingly unsure of what brought on the sudden cold tension in the room.

Sam breathes, slowly, carefully, and refuses to rise to the bait. Not here, not now.

Even though he isn’t aware anybody tried to help Cas when he was here.

He can see Dean’s hands twitch to reach for a weapon, but he stays silent as well.

Gabriel – the most powerful of them, the one who had the best chance to help, the one who had the least reason not to – eventually shrugs. “Let’s sit down, take a look at that only chance of yours. Maybe we’ll come up with something.“

It doesn’t break all of the tension but it forces them to move from the positions they froze in, reminds them of the common goal.

Gadreel warily inclines his head.

“As you wish.“

o.O.o

They maneuver carefully around each other as they come sit around a single table – all of them except Gabriel, who hops up on a table adjacent. And yet they work surprisingly well as a group, taking their seats without any sign of conflict.

It particularly pleases Lucifer when Sam chooses a chair second furthest from Gadreel and doesn’t even twitch when Lucifer takes his place between him and the Sentry, partially obscuring his view. Michael sits on the other side, with the Prophet safely boxed in between him and Dean, who took the seat directly opposite Gadreel – the place of the adversary.

Gadreel is left to sit at one end of the table, as far from the others as he can without refusing to join them altogether, and they allow the distance as both a courtesy and a precaution. He lowers into his chair as if he expected shackles to spring up from nowhere, and doesn’t relax when it doesn’t happen.

Lucifer can’t say he minds. He is still angry, the familiar acid warmth rolling deep in his gut and annoyance itching across his shoulders. There are things he never intended to tell Michael, wouldn’t tell Michael if Sam didn’t push far enough to make Michael eventually ask anyway.

That his brother, priding himself on his justice and righteousness, kept an innocent imprisoned and tortured since the dawn of humanity is definitely one such thing. He could see another piece of Michael’s faith in himself shattering on the impact like the next chunk of a dilapidated bridge, barely fit to carry a person’s weight as it is, falling away into the sea. Too great a price for a chance for Gadreel to be heard out.

Though it seems Gadreel will need every proof of being trustworthy if they are going to move anywhere with this.

Funny thing. If he’s really on their side, the course of action he proposes is the least risky. If they want to make any changes, like sending somebody up to Heaven with him to keep an eye of him just in case he isn’t on their side, it all becomes more complicated.

Is the risk they’ll sabotage the rescue with their distrust greater than the risk Gadreel is playing them? They can’t seem to find a common ground, even with Lucifer, for once, not having much of an opinion one way or another. Neither saving Castiel nor keeping Kevin safe are clear priorities for him. Dean insists on saving Castiel but refuses to trust Gadreel, Sam is leaning towards trusting Gadreel (still too nice to everybody, and it makes Lucifer want to argue the opposite), Michael maintains the Prophet’s safety can’t be compromised. Kevin Tran watches and grimaces and keeps silent and Gadreel, who is doing a better job of turning them against each other than Metatron’s secret deals, tries and fails to keep frustration out of his voice.

Come to think of it, where did Gabriel go? After playing the peacemaker for two hours straight he disentangled himself from the conversation and some time after that he had to vanish. If anybody saw him go, they kept it to themselves.

Gabriel used to have more patience when it came to peacekeeping.

“I can’t stay away too long,“ Gadreel repeats, an undercurrent of tension in his voice. “I am on a mission and I’m expected to return back soon. Metatron doesn’t trust me; he doesn’t trust anybody. If I stay overnight, he will know something is wrong. He will watch me. I won’t be able to get Castiel out of prison.“

“Such a tragic loss.“

Lucifer, along with everybody else, turns after Gabriel’s clear voice, which sounds more amused than mocking. Gabriel himself is comfortably leaning against the side of the doorway behind Lucifer’s back and grinning smugly, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

In the uncertain silence that follows his exclamation, Dean is predictably the one to break it to get to the bottom of the situation.

“What the heck are you talking about? I thought you want to save Cas!“

Gabriel’s grin widens and he smartly steps away from the portal, all posturing and dramatic gestures.

“Ta-daaaa!“

Castiel steps into the doorway, a little awkwardly, and glances at Gabriel as if to make sure he followed the cue correctly. But then his gaze is inevitably drawn to Dean, who is staring at him openmouthed like a fish, and even though the little seraph dutifully says: “Hello, everyone,“ it’s clear who he’s greeting first and foremost.

It’s also apparent it really is Castiel, his broken and ill-fitting Grace shifting uncomfortably under his skin, clearly visible once Lucifer looks just a little deeper.

Sam stands first.

“Cas! Man, how did you get out?“

Castiel ducks his head. “Gabriel’s key. I wasn’t sure it will work in Heaven-“

“And neither was I,“ Gabriel interrupts, gleeful with a trick well played. “But apparently, I’m a genius and a metaphorical keyhole is still a keyhole.“

“Dude, you never even mentioned it as an option,“ Dean frowns, and even though he’s talking to Gabriel, his eyes are still on Castiel. He’s already out of his seat and halfway on his way to make sure Castiel is really, physically there, and Sam hangs only a little behind him.

Gabriel smirks. “As if you wouldn’t tell me to go fuck a porcupine if I told you to give up the rescue because there’s a fifty-fifty chance little Cassie will save himself if he remembers to use the key.“ He frowns at Castiel, his eyebrows knitting thoughtfully. “Why didn’t you use it sooner, anyway?“

“I was trying to gather information,“ Castiel grumbles, letting Dean pat along his arms and giving him a small, private smile.

The until now tense line of Sam’s shoulders comes loose at the display, his whole posture shifting into something joyful, and something that should have been evident to Lucifer before makes itself very clear at that moment: Sam cares for Castiel because Dean does. Maybe it isn’t the only reason, but Sam stays on the sidelines, happy to wait his turn and just watch Dean and Castiel together, and some of Lucifer’s anger dissipates at the sight.

“I didn’t get much,“ Castiel continues once Dean is sufficiently reassured of his existence and health. “But finally Metatron mentioned using me as a hostage for exchange and I didn’t think it wise to let you wait any longer.“

“His Grace,“ Gadreel suddenly speaks up, his voice sharp and urgent. “Can you make sure his Grace wasn’t manipulated?“

Lucifer is out of his seat and calculating chances the second the implications hit. Castiel, calmly standing within arm’s reach of Dean and only a little further from Sam, both hunters close enough to be incinerated almost instantly if Castiel’s Grace gets out of control. Gabriel closest to them out of the angels, but it’s a question if he could shield them with his mangled wings and how much it would injure him. Lucifer and Michael, within a wingbeat from them all but as seraphim, not archangels, too weak to withstand the explosion.

“Geez,“ Gabriel draws, undoubtedly rolling his eyes. “How stupid do you think I am? Of course I checked.“

Lucifer relaxes. Castiel, however, narrows his eyes at Gadreel, suddenly severe as a judge, all traces of warmth lost.

“What are you doing here?“

Gadreel seems to draw a blank at first, uncertain and maybe even embarrassed, then he manages: “I didn’t know you had means of escaping. I came to offer my help saving you.“

Castiel stare doesn’t become any friendlier.

“You told me you won’t break your word to Metatron.“

Which is a very, very interesting information.

Gadreel grips the armrests of his chair so tight it’s a small wonder they don’t splinter in his hands, rightfully nervous now the full focus of everyone in the room is back on him.

“I asked Metatron what his vision is, as you wanted from me. And you were right. My word, my second chance… They aren’t worth what he’d do to humanity.“

He looks devastated by the admission and Lucifer slowly lowers himself back into his seat, tuning out the repeated explanation that follows. For the first time that day, he really focuses on Gadreel, trying to reconcile the angel he knew with the angel he seems to be now.

They never really saw eye to eye, though Gadreel was one of the first created after archangels, long before the lower ranks that barely ever had any personality. Gadreel built himself too much on loyalty, so much that not even Lucifer could tell if he followed every word of their Father out of blind obedience or simply because he was lucky enough for each command and revelation to match perfectly with his own truth. All they ever had in common was their love for Creation, up until Man came around.

It was never quite enough to become close, though they tolerated each other easily as brothers, cooperated well on most tasks they ever received.

The Gadreel of old was steadfast, caring, calm, but not very imaginative. Once, when Lucifer brought him news that something new and great is coming, he guilelessly admitted that he can’t imagine anything grander than the life teeming around them now.

The life in question were the first Eukaryotes.

Thinking of it like that, it really wasn’t surprising that he couln’t see the potential for disaster in humanity.

Is it so surprising, then, that he didn’t see Metatron’s true colors until he was forced to?

Of course, it doesn’t change his crimes: the lives he took and, above all, his violation of Sam’s right to his free will and his body. The latter still makes Lucifer want to make him pay, to make him cower, to tear him apart until nothing but a shivering candle flame is left of him, so that he never, ever dares to even look at Sam without Sam’s permission.

Yet he can’t picture himself dealing the killing blow.

Maybe simply because Gadreel is an angel; Lucifer never killed his siblings easily or lightly, always giving them the chance to clear his path, always regretting it when they forced his hand. Metatron, that is a somewhat different matter. Metatron threatens all the other angels, even Heaven itself. That is, of course, Michael's main reason to want to strike him down. It maybe wouldn't be enough for Lucifer, but it gives weight to his fury over the more personal crimes he wants to take out of Metatron's hide.

Gadreel at least can fall back on past respect to mellow Lucifer's anger. Metatron was never respected, much less loved, by any of the archangels; what respect they may have been inclined to give him for being chosen as the Scribe, he promptly lost by being an annoying upstart, so that the best he ever was to them was a favourite target of Gabriel's pranks.

No, Metatron isn't going to survive this war. But Gadreel, Gadreel came to them. Swallowed his pride, his reservations, offered his help, knowing full well he's not going to get out of it alive if they don't accept.

None of it means they can trust his offer is genuine; none of it means Lucifer wouldn't gladly tear into him if Sam wanted him to. But if Sam seems determined to give him a chance-

Well. Lucifer can live with that.

At least as long as Sam keeps his distance. As long as he watches Gadreel with wary eyes, choosing the same place as before when he comes to sit for the second time, letting Lucifer to be the shield between him and the Sentry.

He wonders if Sam even realizes that when he leans towards Gadreel to ask him a question now, he leans into Lucifer's space.

He wonders if he'd startle if they touched by accident.

He is very tempted to make such an accident happen, but then the questions dry out. The tension rises again. Gadreel has made his case, he is not going to be considered any more trustworthy based on words alone, and it's up to them to decide what to do with him now.

Dean takes a breath to break the uneasy silence, but Michael beats him to it.

“We still cannot let you leave.“

It’s impossible for Gadreel to tense any further, but for a second he looks on the verge of something, a protest or a desperate fight, a suicide, really, but Michael raises his hand.

“It’s not for long. We can’t afford to wait much longer before the strike. Each day Metatron is allowed to rule is a threat to Heaven, especially now that he lost his hostage and his second-in-command. He is going to become desperate. You will have a role in the final fight. Once it’s too late for Metatron to have Kevin killed again.“

“He can still turn on us in the showdown,“ Dean remarks.

“I’m willing to take that risk,“ Michael responds.

So this is how Michael reacts to the knowledge of his mistake: treating Gadreel’s fear with consideration, coming as close to being on his side as he can. It figures that Michael would choose to treat someone with this near-gentleness out of debt.

Lucifer can’t decide whether he likes that new side of his brother or not.

“It’s not as if you had to be locked up in a room,“ Sam adds.

“He doesn’t?“ Kevin asks nervously, which is the first thing he’s said in hours. It’s enough to make Sam hesitate.

It’s enough to make Gadreel hesitate, too, or so it seems. Lucifer hums, measures him once again: the chance he’s really theirs now, the chance he’ll turn on them again out of fear – the chance he’s here on Metatron’s orders but will change his mind if treated well and faced with his victims.

“He doesn’t,“ he confirms, keeping his tone unhurried but firm, his eyes on the Sentry. “There’s four of us who don’t need to sleep and at least three of us who can take him on in a fight.“

It’s what Sam needed to decide, apparently. He leans forward, his fists balled on the table before him, catches Gadreel’s gaze.

“Will you take that? You can’t leave the Bunker, but you can go anywhere as long as at least one of the other angels can see you. You’ll get a room of your own, same as them, but it locks from the inside and you don’t need to use it. Is that good enough?“

He’s not stupid, his Sam. He must have noticed Gadreel turns to him more often than not, acts more than halfway as if his offer of renewed loyalty was aimed at him first and at everyone else distant second. He has the best chance to make Gadreel accept their conditions.

True to expectations, Gadreel doesn’t point out he isn’t being given much of a choice.

Instead, after a moment’s consideration, he inclines his head and finally relaxes.

“Yes. Thank you.“

Sam relaxes in turn, leaning back into his chair.

On his way, almost as if on a whim, he surreptitiously reaches for Lucifer and briefly squeezes his forearm with his fingers, not even glancing at him.

Lucifer is still pondering what it meant when Michael starts the next conversation.

It’s time to plan their strike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah. Did I just accidentally describe Metatron as a victim of bullying? Oops. It makes me think what it must have been like for him, those early days. It's never good for me to start thinking what makes the villain act the way they do. Double oops.  
> What do you think? How much does a backstory excuse a villain, and can it make him redeemable?
> 
> Other than that? Every once in a while, there is a story that humbles me.  
> [Falling Down](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4904725) by Spicari is one such.
> 
> And this one is definitely worth reading, too!  
> [Preventative Measures](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5106470) by WTNVWinchesters


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing a story that has two major aspects is a bit like cooking. I can write the adventure part, I can write the romance part, but how the hell do I make sure everything comes to some sort of conclusion at around the same time?????  
> In other words, this story is now somewhere in its second half, possibly pretty far into its second half, and I'm starting to freak out.  
> Just a little.

“Okay, here goes.“

The first wisp of a prayer barely reaches the edge of Lucifer’s consciousness; if he didn’t know to wait for it, he wouldn’t notice. But then Dean Winchester gathers all his significant willpower and throws it into his call, and it’s like watching the sun come out of stormclouds in the full force and glory of a summer noon. There’s warmth, caring and generous, but there’s also the threat of forest fires, letting everybody who is listening know that this is a man who will not stop until he reaches his goal; will come back from the dead if necessary.

“Hey, it’s me. You know who I am. We don’t always see eye to eye – I still think most of you are dicks – but this is important, so listen up.“

And then, softer, not so vibrant but no less clear, no less awe-inspiring, like dawn breaking over the horizon, another voice: “Angels. Ahem. I pray to all the angels. Hear me, please. It’s me, Sam Winchester, and I have news for you.“

Lucifer can easily imagine the whole Host hushed, listening, the two prayers reaching for them all like light, encompassing them, unifying them. There is something holy in those two voices, in those two brothers, no matter their mistakes and the taint and the burdens on them, and even though they don’t use the same words, the message is strenghtened by their intermingling voices.

“First off, Metatron’s an asshole. He’s the guy who threw you all out of Heaven. You stay with him, he’s gonna treat you like shit. I think you already know that. But that’s not all. He’s powering himself up with-“

“I’m sorry for all the siblings you’ve lost, really I am, and I’m also sorry for all the people who got killed because of the Fall. But it’s not the worst of it. By what Metatron did he weakened Heaven, and by powering himself up so that he can play God, he’s making it worse. It’s bad enough that Heaven is closed, that you still can’t return unless he lets you, and that souls can’t pass there, either, but if Metatron stays in power much longer, he might destroy Heaven completely.“

“You’ll never return home if you leave him up there. And believe me, that’s the last thing you want. Heck, it’s the last thing we want, because all you cause down here is trouble. So, we want you back in Heaven, you want back to Heaven, win-win. Now, here’s the thing: Michael is back in the game.“

“You probably all heard the rumors. But this is the truth: Michael and Lucifer are back. They are out of the Cage because God released them. Because everybody deserves a second chance. Them, you… us. They didn’t want to get involved at first because that wasn’t what they were let out for, but they can’t watch what is happening anymore. Michael is taking up the fight against Metatron, for Heaven, and Lucifer is with him.“

“Trust me, I’m the last guy who wanted to believe them, but you know what? When Michael says he gives a damn about you all, I believe him. And as much as I hate his guts, I see Lucifer with Michael and yeah, they’re in this together. They’re going to be-“

“They’re brothers again. They- Damn. Take it from me, because I- Because I lived it from the inside. They never stopped being brothers to each other. They never stopped being your brothers, either.”

Lucifer forgets to let his vessel breathe. A prayer is based on faith, on honesty. That’s their bid: the angels would know if the hunters were coerced into it in any way. They would hear every quiver of doubt, every reservation.

None of it is an issue. In this very moment, Sam’s faith in them, in him, is absolute. In Sam Winchester’s eyes he is restored, a part of the Host again as if there never was any rift to begin with; he’s a part of a family, and a family can never be broken beyond repair.

“And in case you were interested, Cas – Castiel – is with them. He’s with them because he cares about you lot more than you deserve and like it or not, they are your best option.“

And here is Dean’s faith, just as strong – the faith in one little seraph, and the faith in his own ability to choose the best course of action and follow it to the end.

“This is what it is about. Metatron has no mission, other than to make himself God. Michael’s mission is to help you, to preserve Heaven, and he has allies to speak for him. Lucifer, who supports him because being brothers is more important to him than any agenda of his own. Castiel, who always does what he believes is right no matter what it costs him. Us, because they aren’t our enemies anymore and Heaven being restored is the best that can happen for Earth, too. And Gabriel-“

“There’s also Gabriel, who, I think, is in it because Metatron tried to keep him on a leash and pissed him off. Gabriel is still an archangel, by the way.“

“You probably heard that Michael and Lucifer aren’t archangels anymore. It’s true. But there are fights you don’t decide to fight because you’re powerful enough. You fight them because it’s the right thing to do, because whatever it is you’re fighting for is worth everything. And this is it, for all of us, for various reasons.“

“If you want to join us, contact Hannah or any of us. If you’re with Metatron at the moment, try to get us any intel you can. If you can’t contact us, that’s fine. Stay at your stations, stay safe, wait for the big battle, join us then.“

“That’s all. You have to decide for yourself what is best. I hope for all of us that you will decide well. Amen.“

“One last thing: You heard who we are. We stopped the Apocalypse with less. We stopped the Leviathan with less. We’ll stop Metatron with the team we have now, don’t doubt that. If you don’t join us, get out of our way. Amen.“

Both prayers end then and it's like the night falling, the light gone but the warmth lingering. A night that is full of promise in the wake of the call, full of potential. The night before a battle, but there is more than the expectation of a glorious fight. There’s a hope of unity, of peace, at the end.

A potent mix for the weary, lost angels.

As for Lucifer… Lucifer finds himself walking the corridors of the Bunker, because he’s the one angel who can go right to the source of that rare touch of divinity.

“Yeah,“ answers his knock, and he opens the door.

Sam sits on his bed, hunched over in thought, elbows near his knees and hands still loosely clasped in front of him, little more than fingertips touching. He looks up and greets Lucifer with a soft smile that tries to be reserved, and then quickly takes a turn for the self-deprecating.

“You think it worked? I did what I could, but Cas barely ever seems to hear me, so-“

If the sentence was supposed to have any continuation, it’s swallowed when Lucifer steps into the room, closes the door behind him without caring much about appropriate level of strength going into the task, and then stalks across the short distance to straddle the hunter’s thighs once again.

It’s a good position. It gives him height advantage, it shuts Sam up, and it allows him to touch and be touched. The hunter’s hands are on his hips once again, firm and sure, and he completes the circuit by pushing his fingers into Sam’s hair, every strand sliding over his skin a tiny burst of sensation. Then he tightens his fingers into fists, careful not to do it too fast, too hard, and has the pleasure of seeing Sam’s mouth fall open, his pupils suddenly wide.

“How do I show you what you do to me?“ It comes out half a growl, the tension running through him seeking an outlet he can’t afford.

The hands on Lucifer’s waist don’t waver, though Sam needs to swallow before he asks:

"And what is that?"

His voice is just a little rough, close enough to level. Lucifer envies him.

"You remake me," he says, furious and desperate and, above all, perilously close to worshipping.

Sam takes it in, calm like still water, and if this means nothing to him-

"Do you like what is coming out?"

And this is what it feels to lose all the air in his all too human body.

Trust Sam to ask the one question that is at the core of it all.

Trust him to give Lucifer all the time of the world to answer, too, when his instincts scream both yes and no.

"I like the hope," he admits at last.

Sam's expression turns somehow gentler, softer, and so does his hold, but before Lucifer can find it in him to protest, Sam says: "Me, too," and his thumbs each paint one aborted circle above his hipbones, derailing Lucifer's indignation before it can take hold. Instead, he finds his own grip on Sam’s hair lessening, silken strands shifting against his fingers, soothing.

"This is a mess, Lucifer. I want this - I want you - but a part of me wants to push you as far as you will go and a part of me insists that nobody should change so much for another being because it can't end well. I need to know you're changing for your own sake, and not-" He pauses, then shakes his head with a frustrated exhale and leaves the sentence hanging, probably because there's no way to finish it that doesn't paint Lucifer as a lost puppy following his betters.

Even though Lucifer just admitted that Sam does have some kind of power over him. What he expected to get for it wasn't this, not by a long shot. What he thought he'd get was a challenge, something he could push against; even the rejection or dismissal he feared would give him something to rage at.

Nobody ever told him to be what he considers right for himself. That is, of course, taking Sam's stance too far, but it's there, laid out between them, the option that if Lucifer chooses for himself, Sam won't regret it.

"It's still my choice," he responds, because having his doubts about the truth of a statement isn’t the same as lying. "I wouldn't change if it wasn't my will."

Sam looks, just for a moment, that it will be enough for him, but then he presses on. "Yes. But what is the choice? What is so worth it that you give up what you held onto for millennia, that you-" A muscle in his jaw jumps. "Michael doesn't love humanity any more than you do. Don't tell me you weren't tempted to try to convert him to your side."

Lucifer laughs shortly and with very little humor, and the smile that lingers on him afterwards is sharp.

"Humanity is what divided us in the first place. Don't underestimate Michael's stubbornness."

“Alright, but- What you promised today-“

Ah, yes, the promise Dean demanded from him and Michael both before he was willing to commit himself to the prayer.

“I meant what I said. I’m fairly sure humanity will destroy itself. I don’t need to push it along. Not anymore.“

“And if we don’t? If a few thousand years from now we’re still thriving?“

Even the ‘we’, the subtle reminder that Sam considers himself a part of the writhing, directionless mass of his species, doesn’t sting like it once would. Lucifer shrugs.

“Then you will prove me wrong and I will deal with it in my own time. I don’t think I’m going to be the same in a few thousand years, Sam.“ And he’s never going to grow tired of that precious, liberating fact. “I don’t indend to return to Heaven and I don’t have any particular love of Hell. I’m going to live here and the Earth is full of wonders. It changes, so I will change, too.“

After a moment Sam smiles up at him. “Fair enough.”

Lucifer cocks his head. “Fair enough?“

“Yeah. I wouldn’t know who I’d be in a few thousand years, either, if I expected to live that long. And what you promised today, it’s enough.“

“Is it?“ Lucifer asks softly. “What happened to not considering you better than anybody else?“

“Do you?“

“Yes,“ Lucifer replies without hesitation. “You are still the only perfect human soul ever created.“

Sam chuckles and shakes his head, and then he rests his forehead on Lucifer’s shoulder. Lucifer freezes, not entirely certain he reads the gesture right as Sam seeking some sort of support or safety in him and just as uncertain how to react if he does.

“I shouldn’t want this.“

So much for fair enough.

“But you do,“ Lucifer counters, hating how uncertain he sounds.

“Yes, and I must be insane.“

“Why?“ Lucifer asks carefully, feeling cold in a way that has nothing to do with the influence of his Grace and everything to do with apprehension. Somehow the conversation is turning wrong and he doesn’t know why, much less how to stop it. His hope remains in the fact Sam doesn’t push him away; to the contrary, he‘s holding him closer.

"Because you tortured me, Lucifer. You messed me up. It nearly killed me once and the only reason I somehow function now is that I don't remember almost anything. I sit here and this - it actually feels good. It makes me feel alive and cared for and- I don't know, important, as a person, not a body. But you're still the guy who tortured me and you never even said sorry."

Lucifer's chest is constricting, suddenly too small for him, and his tongue is turning to ash in his mouth. He's afraid to move, afraid to lose contact.

Afraid to tell the truth, but he has to. Sam needs to understand, because if he doesn't, who will?

No. If he doesn’t, it doesn’t matter who else will.

"I don't regret what I did to you," he says quietly, cradling Sam's head to him as gently as he can, and feels him shudder and go still again. "I can't. I had to take you apart to understand who you are, to discover all that you are. To see you for the miracle you are. I wouldn't be here if I didn't do that first. I can't regret what brought me here."

He hears Sam take a ragged breath as if he was the one who had to pause in his confession to draw fresh air into his lungs.

"My only regret is that I can't heal you now," Lucifer continues, somehow finding the courage to start carding his fingers through Sam's hair, soothing out the occasional shiver. "It pains me to see you hurt, to know you're paying the price of my discovery. I never mentioned it before because I thought you would see it as disrespect. You brought me back into the Cage to save humanity from me. A willing sacrifice, Sam, and it paid off in ways neither of us could predict. I shouldn't wish to keep the gift but remove the price, that's close to sacrilege. A sacrifice is holy. But I care for you and don't like to see you suffer. And if I can do anything to make the burden on you lighter, I will. You know I will. If you let me."

Sam laughs, a thin, desperate sound, and Lucifer suddenly realizes the shirt he wears has turned wet on his shoulder.

"Sam." It comes out startled, broken, and Sam shakes his head, never lifting it.

"It's okay. It will be okay. I always forget you don't think like us."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Lucifer chances to ask, not quite believing the crisis could pass as quickly as it came.

"That we're a freaking inter-cultural... whatever we are."

There's more than a hint of hysterical amusement in Sam's voice, still.

"We're an inter-species whatever we are," Lucifer dares to amend.

"Yeah," Sam admits easily, sounding more and more stable by the second. "But you aren't so hard to understand once you explain."

The unexpected bittersweet blessing of those words gives Lucifer a pause, just for a moment. He quickly decides against telling Sam how much trouble he always had explaining to other angels, even Michael, what he thinks, what he believes in. It doesn’t seem like the right time.

"Thank you."

Sam finally lifts his head, seeks out his gaze. His eyes are dry already, clear, and he's smiling, just the corners of his mouth quirking up.

"But we need to talk, man. We can't just keep assuming everything, because it won't work."

Lucifer gives him an unimpressed look, taking care not to make it too harsh. "First of all, I'm not a man."

Sam laughs, and the grin lingering on him afterwards seems delightfully natural.

"Noted."

Lucifer shakes his head. Shifts his hand, just because he can, now tracing the softness of Sam's lower lip, enjoying the subtle signs of anticipation the simple action elicits.

"What do I do with you?" he asks softly, echoing the sentiment with which he came here today. The next he knows, Sam is dragging his hands up his sides and if Lucifer could somehow lean into both of them at once, he would. His eyes fall half closed without his say-so.

"What do you want?" Sam turns the question on him, voice gone rough and quiet.

Sparing a second to brace himself for the whirlwind of sensation Sam can wake up in him, Lucifer leans forward and kisses him firmly on the mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw., I caught up to the show now, so feel free to discuss anything! :) Just try to mark the spoilers somehow for other people reading comments. Thanks!


	28. Chapter 28

It’s not the kind of call Michael is used to, the prayer, and the more he thinks about it, the more it weighs on him.

It’s not for a lack of conviction. He had his doubts when both hunters refused to even hear what he wanted them to say, instead only agreeing on certain points to mention and insisting on using their own words. Letting them do that was a leap of faith he was far from comfortable with – until he heard the prayer and realized they made their own leap, aligning themselves so fully, so devoutly, with him and Lucifer (and, clearly, Castiel as well).

It is for the kind of conviction, the kind of trust, echoing from their words.

Putting the arguments out there for each angel of the Host to decide. Michael knows he wouldn’t do that, not so completely; he’d give them barely more than what he knows of God’s opinions on the matter and ask them to follow him once more. To trust in his decisions even though they now openly don’t come from their Father.

At first he cringed, certain that this is not what the angels need to hear, not what they can deal with; that they’ll shy away from the responsibility put on them and flock to the leader who will give them clear orders to follow.

Then he remembered Hannah, who looked him in the eye and told him in no uncertain terms that his reasoning was wrong, and he realized – maybe the Winchesters are closer to what the Host is today than he is with his memories of siblings he needed to guide so explicitly.

It doesn’t matter. With the Winchesters’ message the way it was, the ones who are more like Hannah are the ones he’ll get.

Those, and then the ones loyal to him because he is what they know, a promise of the calm and carefully managed Heaven of old.

And he’s going to be left to find some compromise between the two.

He isn’t good at making compromises. It’s why he and Lucifer never talk about their past anymore if they can avoid it: they didn’t agree on some middle ground, they decided they care about each other more than they care about their truth on the matter. That likely neither of them was completely right or completely wrong goes unspoken, but if they ever tried to discuss the particulars, they would end up fighting again.

But can the Host find something of such overarching importance if their mission itself, their purpose, needs to be redefined?

Of course, the old command to love humanity is still in effect, but it’s no longer something they can devote themselves to. Humanity is to decide its own Apocalypse, relegating angels to watchers and guardians of souls (if that; Gabriel and Kevin both insist Heaven needs to change to allow souls more freedom). The greatest outside threat to humanity today are the lost and confused angels themselves.

But can he be the leader they need?

In a war, yes, without hesitation. But is he enough to hold the Host together without the authority of their Father, to make them see beyond the rifts of the civil war and all the recent factions, with all the inevitable betrayals involved?

Is he enough, when he doesn’t even know how many of his siblings he’s personally wronged?

Where there is one he wasn’t aware of, there can be many.

He doesn’t even know how to deal with the one he knows about.

He misses the time when he had faith in himself. On the other hand, he can’t miss the mistakes he’s made.

He wonders if doubting himself at every turn will help him make fewer of them.

Making up his mind, he leaves his room (the purpose of which, beyond the symbolic, he still cannot comprehend, although Lucifer seems to enjoy his own).

He isn’t surprised to find Gadreel and Gabriel where he left them; Gadreel still in the same position, too. But neither would he, in all honesty, be surprised to find the former sentry restlessly pacing the Bunker, testing the boundaries of his new cell.

Heaven’s prison isn’t the Cage, but it’s still meant to leave scars. Fears, lessons written into an angel’s Grace for him to never repeat his crimes.

In a perfect world, it wouldn’t leave the same scars on an innocent, but Michael’s world stopped being perfect a long, long time ago.

“I came to take over the watch,“ he announces.

Gadreel doesn’t acknowledge him beyond a glance in his direction, but Michael didn’t miss how his whole frame went rigid as soon as he stepped into the doorway. Gabriel, on the other hand, studies him shamelessly for a while, one eyebrow quirked up. Then he shrugs and gathers himself from his seat, loose-limbed and confident.

“Play nice,“ he throws in when he passes Michael, making him once more wish he was better at reading his brother’s human-like expressions and voice. Was it one of Gabriel’s countless recent provocations, treating his oldest brother as a lower rank, or does he really think Michael intends to threaten Gadreel?

Did anything happen between them to make Gabriel so protective?

But then, maybe it didn’t have to. Michael knows a proper apology and a show of deference is enough to stay Lucifer’s hand, at least when they come from an angel. Gabriel, his mirror in many ways, used to take it one step further, sometimes turning from furious to protective within the space of seconds when a younger sibling cowered before him.

Nobody in their right mind could call Gadreel cowering, but both his apprehension and his penitence are unmistakable.

Even Michael wishes he could ease his worry, but he cannot. He tries to wait it out instead, but it doesn’t work. They have both grown very patient in their respective prisons: Gadreel doesn’t relax a fraction the whole time Michael watches him, silent.

Finding out a proper start to the conversation is one of the most difficult problems Michael’s ever had to solve.

“It was Father who ordered your imprisonment.“ There’s no reaction from the Sentry, probably because he can’t grow any tenser. “At the time most of our siblings called for your execution. With Heaven in uproar as it was, someone would have tried to take it on themselves, either killing you or forcing you to kill in self-defense. With what was revealed today, I believe God’s intention was to protect you, at least until He could hear you out. But if He spoke about it to anybody, it wasn’t to me. I thought it a proof of your guilt.“

He pauses, but still Gadreel doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give any outer sign he hears the explanation, though Michael is certain he listens to every word.

“At the end of the First war, everybody else who sided with Lucifer was dead. Father… Father hasn’t left yet, but He grew distant. I plead with Him for guidance, but He only told me to do what I thought best. Anything I asked, I got the same reply.” He pauses, startled by how broken his own voice sounds when he remembers those times. He doesn’t continue until he is sure he can force it flat again. “I couldn’t think of any other reason for Him to want you alive than that you can yet repent, but you never did. So I tried to force you.“

There’s nothing to add, nothing of value. Michael’s rage, the sense of betrayal coming from a brother he’d loved almost as much as his fellow archangels and trusted maybe more than that, they don’t matter. He should have been able to think with a clearer head. It was his duty as a leader.

Gadreel still stares out at nothing, stiff like a statue, but finally he speaks.

“I begged them to let me talk to you. To God, to Raphael, to Gabriel, to anybody who could change my sentence. They always told me I’ll be allowed to talk to you if I admit my guilt. I couldn’t do that. At first because I knew it’s my word against Lucifer’s, so if I lied to get to you, I’d lose the chance to convince you before I started. And then it was because my truth was all that was left to me.“

Michael finds himself wishing Gadreel stayed silent. It would hurt less.

“I should have heard you out.” It’s obvious, and yet almost unbearably hard to admit out loud. “I should have given you a trial, but I thought you already sentenced.”

He tries for eye contact then, because Gadreel deserves as much, but it’s a futile attempt. After a moment he forces himself to continue regardless: “You never gave me a reason to doubt you before. I should have given you a chance to speak for yourself. But all I heard was that you claimed Lucifer had lied to you. Lucifer never lied. Not even when he needed to the most, when it would have saved him from Father’s wrath. Not when it would have saved us all the Heaven we knew. He couldn’t bring himself to lie. I could – I had to accept his betrayal, but I knew he’s not a liar. I haven’t realized there is a middle ground between the truth and a lie.“

Gadreel nods, just once. A muscle in his jaw jumps.

“Would you know- If I had the chance to tell you what he said, word for word, would you have realized what he meant?“

“Yes.“ And his voice betrays him again, coming out rough with regret that doesn’t have a place here; Gadreel asked for facts. He breathes in, pushes it under control. “Yes, I believe so. Not if I was in your place, that day in the Garden, but knowing what happened afterwards, yes. I knew Lucifer more than anyone. I knew he had… impulses different from any other angel. To need more than we were allowed was always in his nature.“

Gadreel glances at him, just for a second.

“Still is.“

“Yes. Even though the scope of what we’re allowed seems to have widened considerably. And he grew better at handling himself. He doesn’t follow each impulse as blindly as he used to.“

When this time Gadreel looks at him, it’s to study him in some detail.

“You trust him.“

“Yes.“

The disbelief, the protest, the argument Michael expects never comes. Instead they lapse into silence again. It’s not much easier than the first one, at least from Michael’s side. Gadreel relaxed somewhat; he now appears thoughtful rather than waiting for an attack, verbal or otherwise.

Michael finds himself wishing he could stop now, but the explanation he gave is only one part of his problem.

“What I did to you,“ he states slowly, “doesn’t change your recent transgressions.“

Gadreel nods and, as if their previous conversation returned to him the ability to move as is natural, calmly meets his eyes once again.

“I know.“

He offers nothing more. Once upon a time, Michael would take it as an admission of guilt. Once upon a time, as the uncontested General of Heaven, he wouldn’t doubt his right to judge him. But as it stands now, he doesn’t _know_ – he doesn’t know Gadreel’s reasons, he doesn’t know if he is the one who should judge, he doesn’t know whether his judgment will be accepted or resisted, and the uncertainty is too much to handle.

“The Prophet, Gadreel! Our Father’s only way to reach humanity, our only proof Father is still present in the world after He left Heaven. Of all the crimes, how could you murder the Prophet?“

And maybe it was as much sorrow as uncertainty that made the words rush out, because this time, realizing and regretting his own mistakes won’t bring him a beloved brother back. This time, there is still a sentence to be carried out, even if it can be postponed.

The expression in Gadreel’s face is too complicated for Michael to read and his mangled wings remain hidden.

It takes the Sentry a long time to speak, and when he does, it’s firm, composed – and blasphemous.

“I regret killing Kevin Tran more than I regret any other life I took except one, but not because he is a Prophet. I regret killing him because he is a human being.“

Michael flinches in indignation, some of his old righteousness coming back.

“How can you say that?“

Gadreel sneers, and it’s such a startling thing to witness on him.

“Your God doesn’t want to have anything to do with me, Michael. I doubt He would like to be called my Father. You may think he wanted to protect me, but a single word from Him would have cleared my name. Who would not listen to Him if He truly wanted me safe? No. I failed Him and anything that happened to me for it happened with His blessing. I don’t have His love, His forgiveness or His mercy. And maybe, now that I know there was a way for me to realize Lucifer’s scheme if I only cared to know him better, I finally understand why.“ He draws in a shaky breath, but the lines around his mouth remain hard. “But I didn’t, at the time. I thought He abandoned me unjustly, and I was ready to accept a new God. Even now, knowing what I do, I don’t have the will to care for the Word of a God who judged me so harshly. I lost it long ago.“

It doesn’t happen often to Michael to be struck mute and he finds he dislikes the state. He dislikes the tangle of too strong emotions accompanying the state even more.

After a moment, Gadreel continues, and now his voice carries all the regret his previous speech lacked.

“But humanity… I failed them, too, and they don’t even know it. God didn’t have to order me to love humanity, Michael, I already loved them from the moment I saw Adam take in Paradise with the same wonder we had for Creation, and I never stopped. I could not imagine greater honor or greater joy than to be chosen to protect them. I’m ashamed my panic, my selfishness, could bring me to raise a hand against one of those I swore to defend with my life. It was my first true crime and I’d rather die than repeat it.“ He gives a shiver of a smile, suddenly gentle like he used to be. “Which, as we both know, works well with the sentence you have to carry out once I stop being useful in this crisis.“

Michael feels, inexplicably, like crying, but he has no idea how to cry in a human body.

Even more inexplicably, he can’t bring himself to confirm the undeniable truth of his brother’s statement.

He knows his duty.

He knows.

But at that moment, if he had to nod, he’d fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody curious what Gabriel and Gadreel talked about before Michael came? Because I have it (mostly) written out, but this time it really doesn’t belong into this story. Can’t let Gadreel steal the spotlight, no matter how much I love him. :) But I’m considering starting a collection of “cut scenes" in a separate story. Anybody in?  
> EDIT: The scene is already up, just follow the series to the next installment. :)


	29. Chapter 29

One of Lucifer’s favourite things about Sam Winchester is that the fight doesn’t go out of him even if they’re just kissing. Despite all the consideration he shows, despite drawing away every once in a while to make sure Lucifer doesn’t need a moment or two to compose himself, he’s far from passive and he definitely doesn’t let Lucifer lead. Not easily, at least.

Lucifer finds himself without a single layer of clothing on his upper body sometime within the first hour and, once he gets back the ability to have any ideas at all, has the bright idea that he must return the favor.

After which he becomes so thoroughly distracted by the slide of muscle under Sam’s skin that he mostly forgets what they were doing, which is a novel experience as well. He wishes to bury his Grace into Sam so bad it burns, not to control him but to get under the surface, to be able to course through his veins with his blood, to become the thing that keeps him alive.

Of course he knows this body inside out. He had plenty of time to pull it apart and put it back together countless times, even if the physical didn’t interest him as much as the soul. But it’s different now that he wants to admire it, explore it in full, instead of looking for the most painful ways to break it.

It would be endlessly more satisfying now to be allowed to do as he pleases; to have Sam’s permission, perhaps even participation, as he’d lay him out and draw out every possible sensation and reaction a live body is capable of.

He breathes against the skin over Sam’s sternum and watches goosebumps rise all over. He grins when it makes Sam shudder, which earns him a half-hearted attempt to shove him off Sam’s legs.

As if Sam could do anything to make him budge against his will.

He grins wider and breaks the rules, just a little, ghosting his fingertips over the disturbed skin and using the tiniest bit of Grace to smooth it again.

Sam tenses below him.

“What are you doing?“ There’s a forced huff of a laugh in that question and Lucifer immediately stops, forgetting his hand where it is and searching Sam’s eyes.

He knows him too well to fail to see the wariness in there.

Sam averts his gaze first, taking Lucifer’s hand gently to guide it to his side – as if that small show of control made him feel less vulnerable. Then he gives a crooked smile and leans in for another kiss, but there’s more determination than desire in the gesture and Lucifer can’t bear it.

When he breaks off and levels Sam with a look of mild reproach, the hunter hunches his shoulders, gaze skittering away again.

“Sorry, I- I’m not even sure what freaked me out, but when you stare at me like that, I-“

And Lucifer suddenly understands, though he rather wouldn’t.

“You remember.“

“Some part of me, I guess.“ He looks up, mouth a hard and unhappy line. “It doesn’t matter. I want this. I’ll get over it.“

But despite the reassurance, Lucifer can feel sadness settling into his bones.

“Not easily.“

Sam winces as if it was a criticism and a flash of anger stabs through Lucifer’s chest at the sight, anger at whoever it was who made Sam turn so readily against himself.

It’s so easy to forget, when Sam holds his borrowed body like a musical instrument and draws out the hidden symphony of sensation and emotion both, glorious like Creation itself, that he is broken, fragile like glass that is hard and sharp enough to cut but may shatter from a single blow from the right angle.

Lucifer doesn’t have the experience to know whether he should draw away to give space or draw closer to give comfort, so he stays exactly where he is, hoping the shared warmth where their jeans-clad thighs meet will be just enough and not too much.

“It wasn’t all me, what you’re dealing with now,“ he says pensively, because thinking back – and it’s harder and harder to do without something unpleasant turning in his stomach – it occurs to him there is something else Sam has the right to know. And maybe it’s again just words, something that won’t help them the next time something about Lucifer reminds Sam of, well, Lucifer – but it works nicely as a distraction, if Sam’s questioning glance is anything to go by, and Lucifer smiles grimly.

“The Cage was built to punish _me_. To bring an archangel to his knees. It was designed from the beginning to drag out every doubt I’ve ever had about myself, to latch onto the smallest speck of guilt, to multiply every regret. It was meant to break me, make me see my presumed sins and beg forgiveness.”

Sam hangs on his every word, pale and solemn, and it makes Lucifer forget why he started the tale.

“I never did. I found a way to defeat the Cage.”

It will never stop feeling like a victory, too, a triumph he is tempted to scream to high Heaven – did, once, right after his first release from his prison – even though he realizes now how much that victory damaged him.

“You trained yourself out of regret,“ Sam says, a weird mixture of horror and understanding and maybe the tiniest bit of awe in his voice, because Sam is, after all, his mirror, better at understanding him than anyone.

Lucifer smiles at him.

“Yes. And that is why I needed you, Sam, back at Stull Cemetery. To remind me that no matter how good I am at it, no matter how hard I try, I would regret Michael’s death.” He draws a breath, lets it out, shrugs a little. ”I already regretted Gabriel’s.“

Sam’s gaze softens, just for a moment, but he isn’t so easy to dissuade once he gets a thought.

“You still fought me every step of the way.“

Lucifer’s smile crooks.

“I didn’t want to go back.“

Sam nods his understanding, gathering Lucifer’s hands into his. He doesn’t offer anything else, but the line of his shoulders finally relaxed and his fingers are warm against Lucifer’s pulse.

“It’s not why I told you,“ Lucifer says softly after a while.

“So why did you?“

“A human soul, even as exceptional as yours, isn’t made to withstand the Cage, Sam. If I left you alone…”

He can see the moment it clicks, the vague nausea in Sam’s expression.

“It would have destroyed me anyway.“

“Yes.” He smiles again, a little wistfully. “There were so many worse things I could have done to you, Sam. Pain was the simplest, the easiest distraction. I wanted to know you. I wanted to explore you, not some twisted version of yourself. I tested you, sure. Your faith, your conviction, your trust in the people you loved – but I never truly tried to take them from you. I was angry at you, I disliked the way you’ve won – but I admired you, too. So I kept your attention on me at all times. I let you remember what you did and why and for whom and I didn’t give you time to feel guilt.“

Sam’s sudden laugh startles him, the note of desperation in it running across his nerves like a knife.

“So that’s why your hallucination wouldn’t let me sleep.“

Lucifer frowns in confusion, but Sam looks into his eyes, genuine amusement battling the terror of his memories.

“The hallucination you was an annoying little shit. It would do _anything_ to keep me from getting a moment of sleep. Absolutely anything. It nearly killed me. I was out of the Cage, I needed human things to function, and I couldn’t get them. Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, could barely get a few mouthfuls of water into me. You were always there with something.“

“I’m sorry?“ Lucifer offers after a second of consideration, mostly for a lack of anything better to say. He didn’t intend this. He never expected Sam to get out of the Cage, though he’s aware that wouldn’t win him any points at the moment. Or ever, probably.

Sam shakes his head. “Don’t be. At least the real you is different enough for me to tell you apart, because if I couldn’t, that would be…”

“Bad,“ Lucifer finishes for him.

“A mindfuck,“ Sam agrees with a sour expression.

They fall silent afterwards, Sam lost in thought and Lucifer waiting for a cue that they’re once again alright. Maybe what they just talked about needed to be said, but honestly, he’d rather return to kissing. He’s tired of crises for today. He never was much for self-reflection. Or careful consideration of the feelings of others, for that matter. There are a chosen few for whom he’ll always try, but it’s tiring.

“You could have just saved me, couldn’t you? You could have protected me from the Cage without torturing me,“ Sam says quietly and if it wasn’t for the expectant pause afterwards, it wouldn’t even sound like a question.

So it wasn’t the last crisis today. Lucifer suddenly wonders if it will be always like this, a relationship full of tightropes where one wrong step, one wrong word, one too honest answer may mean the end.

He seeks out Sam’s gaze. It’s not difficult to do.

“Yes,“ he admits softly. “But would you, Sam? If someone prevented you from doing what you believed was right, locked up your brother in the Cage with you when you only ever wanted to risk yourself, would you be gentle with them?“

He watches Sam closely enough to see his expression shift minutely in understanding, then denial, and he bates his breath while Sam fights for a decision between the truth and the ideal he’d like to be. Because if he chooses the latter-

“No. I wouldn’t.“

And Lucifer dares to breathe again. Sam looks as if he wanted to be bitter and ashamed, but it doesn’t reach up to his eyes. There’s peace in them, acceptance, a sort of freedom that appears there so rarely, and Lucifer leans in to kiss Sam’s forehead. It feels fitting at the moment. To his surprise, Sam lets go of his hands and wraps his arms around him, drawing him even closer. Making him shuffle forward just so Sam could lay his head against his shoulder.

Lucifer doesn’t really know what to do in turn but he’d be damned again if he let it prevent him from enjoying every second. After a moment he starts to wrap himself around Sam in careful increments.

“You’re good for me.“

Which is the last thing Lucifer expected to hear from Sam today and it catches him unprepared.

“I am?“

Sam nods firmly against his shoulder.

“Yeah. You make me think about… back then, which is nothing pleasant, but then you explain why you did what you did and that… helps. I guess it puts things into perspective, so it’s easier to handle. I feel calmer than I did in years.“

Lucifer hums. It’s nice to hear, it really is, but it’s just about as many highs and lows of emotion as he can bear in one day. Seems there is a limit after all to what he can allow himself to experience after the emptiness and constant, unchanging pressure of the Cage.

“I think you humans call it therapy,“ he suggests sagely.

Sam laughs at him, loud and open, and Lucifer quickly takes the opportunity to distract him from further thinking.

o.O.o

It takes the addition of Gadreel for Sam to fully realize how easily they all learned to weave around each other in the short time they live together, even though they started off as just as uneasy allies as Gadreel is to all of them now.

Maybe it’s because they never expected much from each other, so their various oddities and annoying habits are collectively handwaved as _it could have been worse_. Maybe it’s that they never pretended to trust each other completely, so the occasional suspicious glare and the way they’re all so obviously refusing to be caught unarmed or unaware is respected as a reasonable precaution. And maybe it’s the common goal that united them and they’ll fall apart once the danger passes, but Sam honestly doesn’t think so.

Three of them don’t need to eat – four, hopefully, though it’s always hard to tell with Cas – but now they gather for at least one common meal everyday and rarely discuss anything important until they’re finished.

It’s surprisingly nice. Though he appreciates the privacy he can have in the Bunker whenever he likes, he’s spent his whole life crammed in close quarters with someone, even if it wasn’t always Dean. Those few times he didn’t have anyone to share his space were the most miserable he’s ever felt. He wonders if it’s something similar to what the angels feel, the constant need for someone close by, the itch of wrongness he gets in an empty hall and sometimes even in his room.

The Bunker is big enough to feel like a graveyard with just two people breaking the silence.

Seven is just about right to be comfortable.

Eight is one too many.

Gadreel doesn’t try to avoid them; he can’t, considering he needs to be under guard all the time and his guards want to be around the others. But he’s making every effort to be as unassuming as possible, usually staying in the line of sight but out of the way and rarely speaking without being addressed. He’s particularly careful around Kevin, to the point of blatantly hiding from him. Or so it seems, until Sam watches him one day when he’s already sitting when Kevin comes in. He half expects the Sentry to jump up and look for cover behind Michael, but instead he draws his chair as close to the table as it will go, puts his hands on the tabletop where everyone can see them and lets Kevin pass behind his back without turning his head an inch.

He’s not hiding when he so obviously makes sure one of the other angels is always standing between him and his once-victim. He’s putting himself into a position where he can’t easily attack, trying to make Kevin feel safe.

From what Sam can see, it mostly makes Kevin annoyed.

Still, Sam appreciates the gesture, even if it could be a manipulation technique. He sort of wishes Gadreel extended the same courtesy to him, especially when Gadreel corners him the day after that in an archive.

Okay, he doesn’t exactly corner him, the archive is too big for that and Gadreel gives him more than enough space to dodge if he needed, even though he remains close to the only entrance. There’s also Gabriel, who appears in the doorframe only seconds later and proceeds to lounge there as obviously as he can, even giving Sam a thumbs up.

It doesn’t make Sam feel very reassured.

“What do you want?“

Gadreel hesitates.

“Sam. Are you feeling well?“

Sam gapes at him, momentarily speechless. It’s too similar to what happened in Gabriel’s prison, but it doesn’t make recovery any easier.

It doesn’t make him any less furious this time, either, and he knows he has very short time to decide whether to let it out or not.

Gadreel maybe senses the danger, because he starts explaining himself before Sam can make up his mind.

“Before I had to leave, I was able to heal you enough to survive for a while. I suppose Castiel healed you as much as he could, but- The damage you’d suffered was extensive. I don’t know how powerful Castiel was at the moment, but I don’t believe he had fine enough control over his Grace to tend to every wound, every cell that remained damaged. Most likely he just pushed his Grace into you to give you a- a life force boost, if you will. Let your body mend itself as it will with the resources provided. That kind of healing leaves scars.“

Sam frowns at him, most of his anger lost as he’s trying to puzzle out the meaning of Gadreel’s words and his endgame.

“I’m used to scars.“

Gadreel presses his lips together, something like pity in his expression.

“These would be on your internal organs. All your soft tissues, even your blood vessels. Unless you were healed better than I expect, you are still incredibly fragile. You may feel well, but your body may give out at any moment. Please tell me. Are you more tired than is usual for you?“

Sam gulps. He knows enough about first aid and medicine to know what Gadreel is getting at. But it’s Gadreel getting at it, so he squares his shoulders.

“No. Not really.“

Nevermind that he knows he tires more easily than he did before the Trials, even though Lucifer’s help lets him sleep better than ever since he got his soul back. Hunters age quickly. He can’t expect to spring back to full health as easily as he did when he was twenty.

Gadreel sighs through his nose, not bothering to pretend to believe him.

“Please, if you trust any of the archangels enough – let them take a look at you. When you tell them what to look for, they should be able to assess the remaining damage and strengthen you.“

It throws Sam again.

“What? You’re not gonna try to convince me to let you check on me yourself?“

Even though he pushes as much disdain into his voice as he can muster, Gadreel has the nerve to look as if he was considering it, and then to just look sad.

“I am injured still. The only advantage I have over them is that I know where the worst damage was. Gabriel far outranks me in power at the moment and the other two have their Grace under much better control. Any of them may be able to heal you from the outside, though it may take a while. I… don’t think I can offer that, even now, and I’m not expecting you to let me near you regardless.“

“Damn right you can’t expect that.“

Gadreel just nods.

“I recommend you seek assistance before the battle. You are a good man, Sam Winchester. Please don’t risk your life unnecessarily.“

With that, he turns and walks away. Sam stares after him, only vaguely noticing Gabriel still in the doorframe.

He just starts realizing Gabriel is watching him, an unusually serious expression on his face, when the Trickster pushes himself upright and leaves without a single word.

It takes Sam a few more moments to remember where he is, and even longer to remember what he wanted to fetch from here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder: You’re all welcome to take anything from my works and use it for your own writing (or drawing, for that matter, or anything else creative). In short, treat it as we all do canon: Take what you like, ignore what you dislike and create something new. :) Everything is fair game as long as you create something of your own instead of blind copying. Two rules: If the inspiration is significant enough, use the nifty “inspired by“ feature – and let me know so that I can go see what you did!
> 
> Oh, and in case someone hasn’t noticed, the promised cut scene with Gadreel and Gabriel is up. Just follow the series. :)


	30. Chapter 30

They don’t gather all that many angels in those few days since the call: on the fourth day, Hannah reports less than a hundred, even though more are still trickling in. But then, nobody knows how many are actually left, how many managed to stay neutral, and how many are inclined to help them but didn’t find a safe way to let them know.

The thing is, as Michael explains to them with a furrow between his brows, a hundred is enough to support the incursion they’re planning, but not to open the door. They need the power of a hundred thousand souls at least to break the barrier between the Veil and Heaven – more, if Metatron’s spell is stronger than they estimate – and so far they have less than a dozen reapers on their side who can enter the Veil and try to convince the souls.

It’s going to be slow work and if a single one of those eleven is Metatron’s spy, they lose the element of surprise at best, the whole plan at worst.

Gadreel names two of the reapers as his recent recruits for Metatron and four more as previous additions to the Scribe’s camp, but it doesn’t mean anything. The possibility that he’s lying aside, his information comes from before Michael’s move. Any of them can be genuinely theirs now just as easily as Metatron’s.

Then the time runs out.

It starts with a nonsensical report from Smith Center’s police station. That’s uncomfortably close to them, practically in their backyard, and Sam frowns at the laptop screen, trying to parse the meaning of the message. It doesn’t look like anything he’s ever seen, but it comes through official channels Sam still regularly monitors for hunts (even if neither he nor Dean dare to go out since they brought the angels in and Gabriel revealed what protects them here) and it definitely doesn’t look like a drunken prank. It has all signs of a language, if one that defies transcription into English and maybe into Roman alphabet altogether.

He saves the page just in case into a safe location Charlie set up for him (“don’t download weird stuff just anywhere, you never know when witches learn the internet“), clicks the laptop shut and goes to find Cas.

It takes him a while, but eventually he tracks him by the rumble of his solemn voice to the entertainment room. Expecting his company to be Dean, he steps in without hesitation – and immediately regrets it.

Two angels turn to look at him like one, Cas calmly and Gadreel with his customary caution. Sam’s brain freezes for a couple of seconds and then comes up with two observations: one, the discussion he interrupted was about popular culture of all things, and second, none of the archangels, former of otherwise, is around.

“Why isn’t anybody with you?“ he blurts out sharply and winces at his own tone even before Cas narrows his eyes at him.

“I’m not so easily subdued, Sam.“

Yeah, not his best move. He flails for an explanation, but all he comes up with is:

“Cas, I’m sorry-“

Castiel just sighs and smooths his expression.

“What did you want, Sam?“ It’s not unkind, just a little frustrated, and Sam feels like even more of an asshole for it.

He motions with the laptop under his arm.

“I found something strange, but-“

His eyes flicker to Gadreel, who is quick to begin to rise from the couch where he sat in what seemed to be an amiable discussion with Cas.

“I can-“ But then he cuts himself off, awkwardly halfway to standing, and lowers himself back down much slower than he got up.

Sam smiles grimly at him, because no, he can’t, and if his aborted speech wasn’t enough of a clue he’s aware of it, his white-knuckled grip on an armrest and an averted gaze would be.

“Castiel, perhaps you could escort me,“ Gadreel grits out, not quite managing a level voice.

Cas looks at Sam for an opinion and the hunter grimaces. He could agree, or he could pray and ask Lucifer to come fetch the Sentry, but either would raise questions he doesn’t want asked, not until he knows if this is something or nothing.

“Forget it. You can stay.“

He doesn’t wait for Gadreel’s reaction, opening the laptop instead and putting it on Cas’s lap.

“Can you read this?“

Cas stares at the message so long that Sam begins to hope it’s gibberish, but then he looks up, frowning.

“It’s a request for help. The author is aware he’s not speaking the same language as the rest of the country, but he hopes someone will be able to translate. I don’t think anybody but an angel could. He speaks a commoner’s dialect from Upper Egypt, from the era before the unification of Ancient Egypt. It was never before written. Where is this from?“

“Smith Center, Kansas,“ Sam replies darkly. “If he knows he’s not speaking English, why doesn’t he get somebody else to ask for him?“

“Because nobody in Smith Center speaks English anymore. If what he says is true, nobody speaks the same language, either. A few seem to be able to understand each other and most can no longer write in Roman alphabet or use modern technology.“

“Like in the Tower of Babel?“

Cas huffs, frustrated. “That never happened. It’s a myth people used to explain the natural difference in languages.“

“It’s a story,“ Gadreel says, his voice too grim for a simple confirmation. The angels exchange significant looks and Sam’s stomach sinks. He doesn’t need to wait for either of them to voice the thought.

“Metatron.“

Cas nods. “Any group of angels could do this, but Metatron probably commanded it.“

“But why? Why this?“

“To draw you out,“ Gadreel responds. “He scorns bravery and service to others, he thinks them a weakness he can use.“

“But why like this? Why in a way we can link to him?“

“People who are confused and scared are easy to manipulate,” Cas replies. “If we go there, we need to be careful. All those people will be able to speak with an angel. He can turn them against us. Sam, we should talk to the others.“

Sam accepts the laptop Cas hands back to him.

“Yeah. We should.“

 

Upon hearing the news, Michael simply nods.

“I will tell Hannah to send someone to investigate.“

Sam isn’t sure whether to be relieved, disappointed or feeling stupid.

They’re used to do everything themselves, he and Dean and Cas.

To have someone else to nudge the jaws of the apparent trap feels weird and wrong.

 

As it turns out, the whole town is surrounded by a circle of angel warding regardless.

“Great. At least we know who he wants out there,“ Dean comments dryly. “Sam, you up for it?“

“It’s a trap,“ Kevin points out the obvious, looking as if he once more doubted the Winchesters’ sanity.

“Not our first rodeo. Can we erase the warding?“

“Not easily,“ Michael replies. “According to Anpiel the sigils are large and written into the surrounding fields.“

Gabriel snorts, amused. “Seriously? He used crop circles? This is getting better and better.“

“Yeah, a guy after your own heart, isn’t he?“ Dean mutters.

“You wouldn’t believe,“ Gabriel agrees amiably, not skipping a beat. “Imagine all the loving attention I’ll give him when we catch him. But first we need to catch him and not, you know, the other way around.“

“We can’t meet him there even if we manage to get rid of the warding,“ Michael points out. “It would be a battle on his terms.“

“Yeah, I know, first we need to break the connection between him and Heaven,“ Dean grimaces. They do have a plan for that, mostly thanks to Kevin, but it’s still extremely wonky and Dean likes it even less than Sam. “But we can’t do nothing. That’s people out there. We don’t come out to play, he’ll call louder.“

“What does he want us for, anyway?“ Sam wonders. “He can’t expect us to work as hostages. He could kill us, but we’re the least dangerous. Maybe he wants to negotiate? It would make sense then that he hasn’t killed anyone yet.“

“Or he wants to know what we’re planning,“ Gabriel offers. “You’re human. For someone like him an easy read. And if he scrambles your brains in the process, no skin off his back.“

“Can you protect us?“ Sam asks him.

The sardonic turn of Gabriel’s mouth gives him an answer before the archangel does.

“Against that level of power? For a few hours, tops. I could make you die when he does break in, but somehow I doubt that’s the protection you had in mind.“

“Yeah, thanks but no thanks,“ Dean rolls his eyes. Gabriel winks at him, then goes back to utterly serious.

“So if we go out there, we could lose, but if we don’t, he’ll start killing people,“ Sam sums up. Peripherally, he becomes aware of Lucifer shifting in his seat. The angel has been quiet and motionless since the beginning of the conversation, but it figures he won’t hold himself back forever, especially when Sam has to continue with:

“Dean’s right. We can’t just sit back and do nothing. We don’t even know how long it will take before we’re ready to attack-“

“A day,“ Lucifer says calmly. “Maybe two.“

Michael turns his eyes to him, somehow even more expressionless than normal. Cautious, maybe.

“We don’t have enough reapers.“

Lucifer smiles and Sam for the life of him can’t read that smile.

“I’ll go.“

“You didn’t want to return to Heaven,“ Michael states, painfully neutral.

Lucifer shrugs, his smile turning ironic and just a little rueful.

“I don’t intend to stay. But I guess I can help a brother out.“

“You want to convince the souls,“ Dean joins in sceptically. “The ones going to Heaven. Sorry, I don’t think these will listen to Satan.“

Lucifer slowly shakes his head, and now he’s definitely amused. “Dean, Dean. As if I ever had trouble convincing humanity about anything.“

“I don’t think I want you to threaten them,“ Kevin puts in and Lucifer turns his heavy gaze on him.

“I never needed to threaten. All I ever needed to do was offer.“

Dean snorts. “Yeah, not what I remember.“

“Really? Because what I remember was Sam eventually convincing himself – and you – that saying yes to me is his best chance at getting what he wants. And if I didn’t make the mistake of threatening you after that, I’d rule the Earth today.“

Sam shudders, suddenly cold, and he can see Dean swallow and then lift his chin, not backing down.

“Besides, he only needs to convince a fraction of the souls,“ Gabriel jumps in, seemingly oblivious to the tension. “We need a few hundred thousand. There must be about fifty million souls rammed in the Veil by now, give or take _a lot_. Not to mention a good chunk of them don’t even believe in Satan. If he can make the rest hesitate and do nothing, I think we’re good on that front.“ Finally he looks at Lucifer, curious. “How do you intend to ask enough of them without frying them?“

Lucifer leans back in his chair, a picture of casual and anything but.

“I guess I’ll have to learn a trick or two from you.“

Gabriel stares at him for a second, startled, then grins wide. “Big brother, are you asking for my help?“

“I’m asking you to do your part in the plan,“ Lucifer replies mildly, which in Sam’s experience doesn’t mean anything good.

Gabriel just cackles and graciously beckons to him.

“I’ll teach you, young padawan.“

Dean chuckles and even Sam’s lips twitch treacherously. Of course Sam is the one to get the warning look for it.

But then Michael takes back the reins of the discussion and whatever humor Sam found in the situation is soon lost under the weight of reality.

This is it, the final refining of the plan. Soon they’ll be heading out to fight, and even though it’s much more complicated than their raid of Carthage once was, it feels just as uncertain, hanging on a few half-desperate chances.

Whether they’ll win or lose, they aren’t going to be the same afterwards. They aren’t going to keep living here, to meet like this.

But their lives aren’t the point. They never were. The point was always to get rid of the latest nasty in the long line of nasties feeding off other people, threatening other lives, and it’s not going to stop for the rare times when Sam has something he wants.

And maybe that’s fine. He’s learned since that his life falls apart without something meaningful to do, just as much as it falls apart without Dean. He’s too well trained to be able to take a break without breaking himself under the nothingness of it.

So he’ll go, and he’ll fight, and afterwards he’ll pick up the pieces left to him and try to build something worthwhile out of them.

And if Dean is among them, and Cas and Kevin and now hopefully also Lucifer, it will even be good.

 

There’s no time. Directly after the planning, Lucifer holes himself up with Gabriel, and then he leaves for the Veil. Sam barely catches him for one private moment in the corridor and only because he waited for the opportunity. Then he sees him and the parting words he prepared desert him.

Lucifer marching into battle is glorious and dangerous, suddenly too vast, too radiant, too cold for human skin, and Sam’s breath catches in his throat as a memory floods him, visceral and real. He remembers the moments before another battle, remembers the terrible, irresistible pull of Lucifer’s resolve, and for just a few seconds he needs to be there, needs to throw his everything into Lucifer’s fight like a warhorse supporting its master.

But that is not what they are now. Now Sam can drag Lucifer to him for a single fierce kiss, both to overcome the other urge and to taste the burn of Lucifer’s determination at the back of his tongue.

“Come back.“

Which isn’t exactly what he originally planned to say but it will serve, if the glint in Lucifer’s eyes is anything to go by.

“You should know by now that I always come back and I always find you, wherever you are.“

Once it would have been a threat, but when Lucifer raises his hand to cup the side of Sam’s face, Sam finds himself leaning into it without hesitation, even if Lucifer’s touch is cold enough to startle. He sees the intensity, the command in Lucifer’s gaze, and he doesn’t fear them.

“Don’t make it hard for me. I would tear the world apart to get you back.“

Sam nods, utterly unsurprised and utterly unwilling to waste the effort of trying to talk Lucifer out of it.

He could just as well try to convince Dean not to do something stupid to raise him from the dead.

Satisfied, Lucifer draws his thumb across Sam’s lower lip – a quick, incongruously gentle gesture – then drops his hand and continues down the hall to his room.

The rest of their group is already there, with the exception of Gabriel who arrives half a minute after them.

Nothing much is said. In fact, so little it said that it doesn’t make sense they all gathered for it, but here they are, somehow needing to stick together when the first of them leaves.

Lucifer’s room is so tiny that only Michael steps in after him. They could probably all fit if they really tried, but it would be both uncomfortable and awkward.

Lucifer lays himself on his bed (impeccably made for once), closes his eyes and stops breathing. Sam’s pulse picks up, even though he knew to expect it.

Then the floor beneath his feet starts to tremble, a deep hum at the edge of Sam’s hearing that finds its way into his bones, up his spine to settle in his brain as primal fear. It’s a foreboding rather than sensation, a presence of something vast and powerful and feral and holy, and for once it doesn’t help to know that it’s Lucifer doing this. The old, animal parts of Sam’s brain fire off in alarm, wanting him to flee from the incoming earthquake, and what is human in him balks at the presence of death.

He hasn’t fully realized until now what it means that Lucifer will be stepping into the Veil.

Then the shakes pass. The air clears, fresh enough for the three humans to gasp for breath and come down from the fright.

The angels are somber and in Lucifer’s bed is an empty body, its chest raising and falling almost imperceptibly, the rhythm present but slower than anything Sam’s ever seen on the living: a vessel in stasis, waiting for its occupant to return to it. Michael puts two fingers to its forehead to check on its vitals, then withdraws his hand, satisfied.

Lucifer has passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Enochian_angels – this was fun :) Most of the names look as if someone took all the letters in the alphabet, randomly picked a few and proclaimed it a name.  
> But Anpiel is an angel protecting birds in this one. Who better to send for recon?


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, folks. Time for a general warning: While this fic remains a self-indulgent fix-it for everything I can get my hands on, the end is nigh and the ending you can expect could be called "victory at a cost". My favorite kind of ending, sorry not sorry.  
> I will do my best to warn for all the usual triggers as I go, but if you need to know for sure that X won't happen before you dare to read any further (at any point), I'm willing to tell you privately in advance. I'm getting your comments via e-mail, so if you ask and give me your e-mail address or other contact and edit it out right after posting, I will still receive it and will be able to respond that way.  
> That said, I hope all of you will be able to enjoy the story till the end.  
> No warnings for this chapter save for over the top poetic language because dammit, I wanted to write it this way. :)

It isn’t until he sheds the body, carefully stepping between realities to spare Sam and the other two humans a glance at his true form, that Lucifer realizes what a relief it will be to get rid of the confining weight of muscle and bone and unfurl to his full height and width.

As small as he is now compared to what he once was, it still comes with a sense of freedom only being himself can really bring. It’s enough of a difference for him to consider what else he can let go.

He could go back to what he once was. An angel, one of the oldest beings in the Universe. Celestial, untouchable, unbound by the opinions of others.

Out of which the first isn’t quite true anymore and the latter two never were. He is scarred by his time in Hell, by all his attempts to break out of the Cage. By his battles with Michael, the way they tore into each other until they carved out a new place for themselves in the other’s Grace and then fell into each other, exhausted. This is the first time, however, that he can fully appreciate how healthy he was remade, how strong, relatively speaking. He’s smaller, not stretched thin into a form he no longer fits. He isn’t disfigured like he was during the Apocalypse. The frayed edges of him are like patina on a finely crafted chalice: visible, tangible, but not limiting.

He doesn’t trail the shadows of Hell after him anymore.

He could return to Heaven if he wanted. He is restored enough. None would question it. What sets him apart is his experience and his reputation, not how he appears to an angel’s sight. Experience can be hidden and reputation balanced out, especially with the whole Host shaken in their faith in their leaders and themselves. He could come with Michael, become his right hand man. Maybe more.

Lucifer laughs then, because he of all creatures knows temptation and where it leads.

No. He can visit Heaven, offer advice if asked (and sometimes when not asked). He can and will fight alongside Michael, but he can’t rule with him. They’re both too stubborn to agree enough for them to lead as one and too prideful to submit to the other.

And Lucifer, as much as he likes to be admired, has no true interest in ruling.

He’s far from untouchable, too, in all senses of the word. Some of them he even likes: closeness of any kind, with anyone, isn’t something he dares to take for granted now, and then there are the many interesting ways in which a body can be touched.

He isn’t unkillable, either. He never was, now that he looks back; he just hadn’t expected the few beings on his level or above to turn on him, which made him feel invincible. He doesn’t think he would retain that illusion even if he came back an archangel, but Father sure knew how to drive the point home, making him into something a footsoldier’s blade can easily dispatch.

How the mighty have fallen, once again.

And how the thought burns.

It’s not punishment, maybe that is what burns the worst. Lucifer is familiar with God’s punishments and this isn’t anywhere near their level. There’s too much mercy involved, too much loving restoration, and if he and Michael could keep away from the thick of the events, they would be more than reasonably safe.

The more he thinks about it, the less he believes their Father expected them to be able to stay away. That makes their weakness a pointed lesson in humility, forcing them to consider every step, forcing them to make allies.

Encouraging them to look out for each other, as if they needed the extra reason to stay together.

It’s an unsubtle manipulation. Without all the power at their fingertips, everything suddenly seems closer, their little siblings no longer a flock milling around their feet and even a well-armed human posing a real threat, making them worth consideration.

Lucifer knows he would respect Sam anyway for the strength of his will and conviction, but he must admit being dragged down this much closer to the hunter’s power level makes him appreciate him a bit more. Knowing Sam could slip a blade between his ribs in an unguarded moment, or trap him with sigils and holy oil and repay him for every moment of pain.

Knowing he won’t.

Maybe this, too, was meant as a mercy. Maybe their Father thinks that one of the mistakes he’s made was to create his archangels so far apart from everybody else that they only ever had each other. Thinking back to how happy he seemed at occupying a human body, getting to experience as a human would, if only as a mostly passive passenger, it makes sense.

For his own peace of mind, Lucifer decides the last reason can’t be the main one, if it plays a role at all. The other ones are much more likely. A God who simply wants him happy isn’t the God he knows – and as much as he raged at him for a long while, as much as he still didn’t forgive him fully, he loves his Father with the kind of fierce love that can teeter on the edge of hate for however long without ever crossing over.

He doesn’t want him replaced with a stranger.

None of it matters at the moment, and perhaps it never will. God may have showed off the power he still has over his disappointing, troublemaking children with his usual mix of loving care and stern warning, but Lucifer came into existence with free will and never shied away from exercising it. He isn’t going to start now. He isn’t going to turn away from the course he set for himself, either.

Careful, he finds his footing in the energies flowing around him and pushes his way into the Veil.

It’s easier than it used to be. That’s the first difference he notices. He expected it to take him a few tries: he never needed to do this on skill alone. Now he doesn’t even have the full range of senses he used to have, he can’t correct for any missteps with archangelic strength and the last time he did this, he was literally someone else. Instead the Veil opens before him, welcoming and wide, so bright with tightly packed souls it blinds him for a moment.

He’s suddenly glad they can’t perceive him unless he deliberately shifts onto their frequency. The mass of souls is like a living, breathing organism, formless and infinite at the first glance. He already knows from Sam that a human soul doesn’t have an end; no matter how deep he went, how much he fractured it, there was always more depth to discover. He also knows, since the very beginning, that humans are forever caught between chaos and order, instinct and awareness, down to their very souls.

None of it prepared him for this. This everchanging, interconnected multitude sharing both power and imagination, whole worlds created between them. Images and emotion flitting from one soul to the next so fast and wide that it's impossible to tell where each started. Ideas traveling through the Veil, transformed by the souls they pass and transforming them in turn so that it almost looks as if the ideas themselves had awareness and purpose, transcending the souls that host them.

It’s beautiful and ugly at once, fascinating and dangerous. This is what he promised to let happen. This is what he promised to lead to Heaven, this force of nature capable of destroying everything in its path and recreating it in its image.

He doesn’t want it anywhere near his siblings. He doesn’t want it in his once-home. They miscalculated, he and Michael and Gabriel. This isn’t any less of a threat to Heaven than Metatron. The thought of this uncontrollable horde reaching the billions of safely stored souls in Heaven, igniting them into this maelstrom of pure human nature, is terrifying.

And yet. This is the first time humanity as a whole impressed him.

This should be so much worse: A writhing, screaming mass of souls pressed too close together. The so-called good people corrupted by their suffering, preying on others just to get a little more space.

There’s none of that. It’s miles apart from the clockwork coordination of the Host, but it is cooperation. It is people working together, supporting each other to get what each of them wants. This is what happens when the worst of humanity is cut off and there is enough of those capable of standing up to the remaining troublemakers to make the result pleasant to most and bearable to the rest.

This is action, free will tempered with experience, the fruits of generations of people dealing with the evils of their own kind and the harshness of the world outside Paradise. This is people facing the taint he brought to light all those ages ago and coming out much less innocent but much wiser and stronger for it.

This is humanity he might eventually grow to respect, the possibility he previously entertained mostly for Sam’s benefit suddenly open wide before him.

It scares him. It draws him in.

What a pity he needs to decide what to do with them now. But however he wishes he could turn back, using the power gathered here to open Heaven is the only plan they have. He could go about it differently, consume the souls instead of leading them, but that wouldn’t end up well for anybody, least of all him.

Maybe he should learn from the Winchesters and solve one problem after another.

Metatron first.

It’s with that thought that Lucifer reaches for the new knowledge Gabriel gave him. It’s a little known truth that all of the archangels could have the skills of the others, that their roles and strengths and weaknesses are always and only a matter of preference and experience, not nature. Gabriel is the Messenger because he always was the most curious of them, most willing to mingle with other creatures, always taking care to understand and be understood. After humanity became corrupted and could no longer bear sight of an angel’s true form, he found ways to mellow his appearance so that he’d harm no one.

A few hours and an access to his brother’s mind was all Gabriel needed to teach Lucifer the trick. After all, as he couldn’t resist pointing out, there’s not all that much of the archangel Lucifer left to hide.

It’s to their advantage now. Lucifer takes tight control of what little Grace he has as a seraph and slowly makes his presence known, soft and bright like breaking dawn, and sees the nearest souls overwhelmed with awe, not burned away by his radiance.

A hush falls over the souls as far as his influence spreads, shared images dissolving, thoughts muted in anticipation that is far closer to worship than fear, and it grates at Lucifer’s nerves even as it plays into his cards. The possibility of some modicum of respect aside, he still itches to show them what he really is, prove to them once more that they aren’t fit to witness true purity, much less achieve it; that even dimmed by scars and diminished as he is he is still so far above them they can’t even exist anywhere near him.

He reins in the impulse the best he can, gives them an echo of Heaven’s glory so faint that those nearest to him shy away like leaves swept by too strong wind but survive the experience. Then he pitches his voice low, stripped of all the frequencies that would tear a soul apart when it has nowhere to run, and calls them to battle.

 

It’s not so easy. It seems it will be at first, too many people too easily swayed, as always.

Then the questions start coming in. _Who are you, why should we follow? Are we in danger if we fight, and how about our loved ones on Earth or in Heaven? What is the plan?_

So he answers. Truthfully, because he never needed to lie and isn’t going to start now, and as patiently as he is able. It’s not as hard as he thought it will be to keep his temper in check. He can appreciate curiosity and strong will, as long as they don’t come with impertinence.

Very few dare to be impertinent face to face with just as much of an angel’s divinity as they can handle. A few of those who do turn out to be angels’ recent vessels, so he decides to indulge them anyway, just for a short while. They become his most fierce followers, eager to blame Metatron for their own naivety in saying yes, determined to get back at him.

By the time one of Michael’s reapers finds him, more souls than he can see at once are gathered around him, gravitating to his cause like iron splinters to a magnet. It’s already more than he needs and more are coming every minute.

The reaper eyes him distrustfully and he gives them an equivalent of a cold smile, waiting for them to make the first move. He isn’t sure he remembers their name correctly. An insignificant little guide, this one, possessing little fighting skill and even less of a personality.

“You’re certain not a single soul will be destroyed when you break the barrier?“ they ask, making sure their voice carries to the surrounding souls.

“Yes,“ he answers. The longer answer, the reasoning, went to the souls before. Many times, actually, as some of the newcomers weren’t satisfied with hearsay.

_Are we safe if we go with you?_

_Yes. The spell is supposed to keep angels and souls out, not harm them when they try to get in. I wouldn’t put it past Metatron to add a little something against his siblings, but you’d already know if he did the same against human souls. You’re pressed against the gates of Heaven all the time. What do you think this place is other than the borderline?_

He can be very patient when he needs to, but he’s not going to repeat himself once more.

“Is Michael ready?“ he cuts in before the little angel can ask him to elaborate.

The reaper hesitates, then wisely decides against pushing.

“He’s ready. We can create the portal the moment you break down the spell.“

“And the allies?“

“In place. Michael asks if he should send them in.“

What a question. Lucifer doesn’t want Sam in danger, but it is what they agreed. They need to lure Metatron out of Heaven.

“Yes.“

The reaper slips out of the Veil and Lucifer pitches his voice once more to carry. “You’ve heard the guy. My brothers and sisters will join us once we clear the way. Keep ready..!“

The buzz of excitement among the souls reaches higher as the word travels. Can’t be much more than half an hour Earth time that the reaper is back.

“Now!“

“Now!“ Lucifer repeats, his voice reaching as far out as he can make it. “Push!“

It’s not more complicated than that. It takes a while for the charge to gain momentum, but more and more souls catch onto what is happening where they can’t hear him directly. Like rising tide, they lap at the barrier in small waves at first, but soon they find a rhythm, thousands upon thousands of souls unified in their effort, spearheaded by an angel’s might.

The spell bends, makes more space for the Veil, tries to grow stronger to accomodate the pressure-

Breaks.

Light floods out and the souls cry out in surprise and anguish and awe, unprepared for what true Heaven is like.

Neither was Lucifer.

Turns out even an angel’s memory can fade, given enough time. What greets him now is home in a way nothing else can ever be. Everything else, no matter how pleasant, seems out of sync in comparison. This is the reality made to sustain him, nurture him, accept him. This is where he belongs.

This is what was taken from him by God and Michael.

How could he forget the reason of his old rage?

And yet, even with that thought, the anger fails to come. The options flit through his mind: call Metatron, make him a deal, leave Michael and everyone else homeless as they deserve, then inevitably turn on Metatron and reign in Heaven, the sole and uncontested ruler.

He doesn’t laugh this time. He lets the scenario unfold in his mind: the triumph, the satisfaction… the hollowly echoing arcs of energy and eerily silent Garden. How fast would Heaven grow bland if he was alone in there? How long before he would come down to Michael, to taunt him and get at least a scrap of company, like a hissing cat that won’t be petted but won’t leave the room where everyone else is, either?

Once upon a time he wouldn’t realize this is what would happen. How much better to be isolated in Heaven than to be isolated in the Cage? But he has gotten a taste of companionship since then: the renewed bond with Michael and something fragile but infinitely rewarding with Sam. There’s the chance of mending his relationship with Gabriel, there’s Castiel’s cautious, conditional acceptance and they’re both promises he’d like to turn into reality. Better to be a king in Hell than a servant in Heaven, but much better than either to be an equal on Earth.

Or wherever his curiosity and desires lead him.

He shakes himself from his musings just in time. The spell is quickly unraveling from the point where it was broken and souls are crossing over to Heaven, milling about on the other side in uncertainty. Luckily it still takes effort to step over the borderline without a guide, otherwise the whole Veil would be emptied in short order, which is the last thing Lucifer wants.

The reaper is nowhere in sight, doubtlessly gone back to Michael. Soon Michael and his angels will open a portal to Heaven, but there’s still a lot Lucifer can do to support them.

“Heaven is open,“ he calls to his followers. “If you stay here, or don’t stray too far from the border on the other side, you’re as safe as you can be. Sooner or later somebody will come and help you find your place in Heaven. But this is not over yet. Metatron still rules. This is the part where we fight if necessary. This is the part where we take Heaven back. If you follow me now, I can’t promise you safety. All I can promise you is you’ll be doing the right thing. You’ll be serving the souls who come here after you and you’ll be saving the people who are in danger right now because of what Metatron did to Heaven and Earth both. Who is with me – forward!“

He feels the aswering surge of souls as he opens the way for them the best he’s able, but he doesn’t stop to find out how many come. He already lost enough time and the race is on. By now Metatron surely knows something is happening and will try to return.

If he already doesn’t have a headstart.

Heaven, while it might not seem that way at the first glance, is built like a fortress, with points of entry on the edges and places that can’t be accessed from any other plane of existence but only ever traveled to from within Heaven. At the very center is the Garden, from which everything stems; where God’s presence could be felt the strongest both before and after he left; where Eden stands when one knows how to look. This, according to the Prophet’s information, is most likely where Metatron made the connection between himself and Heaven and where it also can be severed.

Lucifer flies as fast as he’s able, using the stregth of souls beneath his wings to encompass them all and take them with him. Just as he hoped, the few angels he encounters get out of his way. They may be willing to fight another angel but they still shy away from hurting human souls, and since they don’t know what is happening, since they probably don’t even recognize Lucifer until he’s already gone, their first instinct is to let them pass. He leaves them behind for Michael to deal with, he can’t afford the delay and he doesn’t want to hurt them anyway.

So it happens that Lucifer, Morningstar, the Adversary, is the one to lead humanity back into the Garden.

The irony isn’t lost on him.


	32. Chapter 32

In the day after Lucifer’s departure, waiting for their part of the plan, Sam has the opportunity to fully realize how much of his attention the angel occupied.

It seems impossible. They didn’t even spend all that much time together; not in the privacy of either of their rooms. But Lucifer was always somehow there, somewhere on the edge of Sam’s perception at least but more often at its center, his presence filling every space even without the thrill that said _danger_ and _archangel_.

If Sam is entirely honest with himself, it’s not a matter of species at all. The last person who could make him aware of her on the same bone-deep level whenever she came near was Jess, even if the impression of her was much gentler.

It’s also the first time since Jess that he found himself in a relationship that is something more than an escape, something more than the straw he’s hanging on not to drown. He doesn’t know where it will lead, doesn’t know if it has any chance, long term, but it’s good – good enough to fight for. It’s good, because he doesn’t have to forget parts of himself for it to work.

That doesn’t make it safe. One of the things he doesn’t know is how Lucifer will react if he ever tries to end it. Lucifer tends to be vicious when crossed, but he has changed too much to be predictable and the level of respect he shows Sam lately doesn’t seem like something he’ll forget at the first wrong turn.

They’d probably both crash and burn anyway. They’re becoming too entangled, too important to each other. Theirs isn’t a relationship that could just quietly fizzle out. Either they will be together till one of them dies (and probably beyond if the first one out is Sam, considering), or the break-up will be spectacular.

Sam is strangely fine with that.

He’s way past the point where he could turn back, anyway.

It’s almost a relief when they finally pile into the Impala, Dean behind the wheel and Gabriel and Gadreel in the backseat. Kevin remains in the Bunker, still buried in the three versions of the Tablet in case he found something important at the last moment, and Michael and Cas are already with Hannah and the other angels, ready to open a portal to Heaven the moment Lucifer clears the way.

Lebanon, when they drive through it, is unusually quiet. The few people out and about avoid looking at the black car or even speed up to duck behind the nearest corner. Dean grits his teeth and nudges the Impala a little closer to the speed limit. They aren’t here to investigate.

The ride to Smith Center is spent in tense silence. Even Gabriel seems to be on edge. Sam doesn’t blame him. Until Michael and Lucifer manage to cut Metatron down to normal angel size, the main part of the fight is going to be on him, and if anything goes wrong, he’s the only one who has a chance to save all of their asses.

Unless he decides to save just his own, which is far more likely.

Which makes one of their allies in this fight unreliable once it gets tough, and the other unreliable in general. Sam is definitely going to be careful not to turn his back on Gadreel, even though he agreed with Michael and Gabriel that they should give the Sentry a chance to prove himself.

They need them both anyway – and isn’t it a recurring theme in this whole alliance.

They’re about to find out if it sometimes pays off, making deals with the Devil. Or several of them, less literally.

They meet Anpiel according to plan, just a couple of miles from the wards around the town, but she doesn’t have much to say. Turns out she has some sort of special connection with birds, but she can’t make them notice anything they normally ignore. At least it means there are no bodies lying around, because there aren’t more carrion birds than usual. There are also at least some people out and about, because the birds are still cautious about them.

Other than that, all she can do is to lead them all to the wards. Not too close – even Gabriel grimaces and flinches back when he tries to take a look and Gadreel visibly shudders and halts barely two steps closer than their guide. Neither human feels anything special, as expected.

The sigils are enormous, each at least thirty feet in diameter, complicated and pretty much impossible to disturb. Dean tries to straighten some of the pressed down stalks but they lie down again. He can pull out a handful, but that would be a slow work.

The soil is a paler color under the lines of the crop circle than it is where the wheat is standing normally. A little digging shows the difference reaches maybe ten inches deep, enough for a few hours’ work with a shovel if they need to cut through several of the circles, as they suspect. The hunters exchange a look. Dean grins.

Sam doesn’t blame him for his good mood when they return to the angels.

“Less than ten inches,“ Dean says to Gabriel. “Go ahead.“

Gabriel smirks, raises a hand and snaps his fingers.

The last time Dean rode into battle against angels over the fate of the Earth, he drove the Impala.

This time he drives a tillage tractor.

At least it has a cool paint job. Sam has to laugh when Dean eagerly climbs in. Maybe after being cooped up in the Bunker for so long, Dean’s enthusiasm has more to do with finally being able to do something than with getting to drive a new beast of a machine, but he looks like his birthday came early and Sam can’t resist snapping a picture for evidence. Dean isn’t going to hear the end of this anytime soon.

Then the plowshares cut into the dirt at the edge of the first sigil and Sam quickly exchanges his cell for an angel blade, jogging to catch up. If Metatron arrives before the wards are broken, he’s the only one who can stall him while Dean finishes the job.

But as the tractor roars its way through the first crop circle, raising a cloud of dust and leaving a wide furrow of upturned pale and dark earth and broken stalks of wheat in its wake, nothing dramatic happens. The same with the second. The third. That’s enough: Gabriel saunters closer, Gadreel and Anpiel at his heels, and Dean cuts the engine and jumps down to join them.

He’s not grinning anymore, and neither is Sam, both of them too busy scanning their surroundings and keeping ready. The worst case scenario isn’t an ambush, though. It’s that Metatron won’t bother. It’s that he will wait for Lucifer and Michael in Heaven and dispatch them as easily as Cas once dealt with Raphael when he was hopped up on stolen power.

They need to drag him down. They are the bait and they need to work as one.

Preferably without civilians around.

“Hey! Metatron! We know you want us here! Nice holding innocent people hostage, you feathery dick! What do you want?!“

Sam gives his brother a quick glance, but he has to admit that Dean’s direct approach might work in this case.

It usually does, but this time there’s only silence.

They wait for a few moments. Eventually Gabriel shrugs. Off to the side, the tractor wavers like a fata morgana and disperses in a purple cloud of pagan magic.

“Guess we’ll have to come closer, boys.“

Grudgingly, they begin to trudge through the field towards the town, but they barely move at all when a rustle of wings and a theatrical sigh alerts them to an angel’s presence.

“Gadreel, Gadreel. The universal traitor, I see. And here I was so worried for you when you vanished,“ Metatron says in a tone that is a good approximation of a gentle rebuke.

In the space of a breath Gadreel takes, they all spread wider, prepared to fight. Now Sam’s experience with casual prayers comes in handy, as he can easily think: _“Michael, Metatron’s here.“_ and be fairly sure it’s not visible on him.

“No, you weren’t,“ Gadreel replies evenly. “You offered my life to the Winchesters.“

Metatron gives him a mournful look. “Did they tell you that? And you believe them after they chased you away despite your best intentions? After they tortured you?“

“I believe in them,” Gadreel says so simply that something unpleasant twists in Sam’s gut. “I should have never left their side.”

“Oh. You mean you should have continued possessing Sam here against his will? Or that you shouldn’t have murdered Kevin Tran?“ Metatron asks innocently.

Sam grits his teeth and reminds himself Metatron is deliberately trying to turn them against each other. They need to let him try, too. Every moment he spends ribbing them is one more moment for Lucifer, Michael and Castiel to do their job.

“I should have revealed myself to Sam and ask his forgiveness,“ Gadreel replies, not bothering to hide his regret. And for a moment it doesn’t matter that he’s probably only talking because he’s just as aware as Sam that he needs to keep their enemy engaged. It’s the first time he openly admitted he did something wrong when he tricked Sam into consent and it’s a relief to hear it. It’s hard enough to handle Dean claiming he did what was necessary to save his life, unwilling to accept that there are more important things to save than that. He’s not sure he could handle Gadreel missing the point just as completely. Gadreel was inside him, knows all about his lifelong struggle for self-determination. If he dismissed it as irrelevant, if he also thought Sam’s life was more important than his self and then had the audacity to consider himself Sam’s ally… That would be more twisted than what Lucifer ever did to him.

Metatron chuckles and for once his amusement seems genuine.

“You know, what I really like about you is how easily you change opinion. This is what? A third, fourth time during a single year? Makes one wonder if Lucifer really needed to trick you. You sure you didn’t just change your opinion back there, too? Maybe they were too nice to you in prison. Maybe they screwed with your head so that you forgot what you did. That you did let him in.“

There’s no answer from Gadreel and Metatron smiles, poisonous and self-satisfied.

“No, he didn’t,“ Sam takes over, because somebody needs to and because it’s the truth. And maybe, just maybe, also because he knows how it feels to have to doubt the reality around him, the reality of his memories and in the end of his own self and he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. “He was tricked, first by Lucifer and then by you.“

“Or he cooperates with Lucifer this whole time and they both feed you the same story.“

Sam laughs. He actually laughs, because this is pathetic, Metatron’s pathetic, throwing out one theory after the next and waiting which will catch.

Metatron gives him a mild stink eye.

“What? Don’t tell me you of all people trust him. Or is it that you trust Lucifer? You are like him after all. His True vessel. The one human soul in the history of mankind that belongs to him completely. Hmm?“

“Cut the crap. Sam belongs to no one. You wanted us here, we’re here. Say your piece and fuck off.“

Sam carefully suppresses a smile at Dean’s vehement defense. Interesting is that it wasn’t needed. He knows too much by now. He knows where he and Lucifer are the same, locking seamlessly, and he knows where they are different, shaped by their families, their history and their own choices. Being Lucifer’s mirror no longer terrifies him or shames him.

Dean jumping to the point like this is more dangerous, but Metatron isn’t stupid. If they want to stall him, they can’t be too obvious about it.

“I also wanted you to come alone,“ Metatron points out acidly.

“Tough luck.“

Metatron stares at him for a moment with narrowed eyes.

“Shall we visit the town?“ he offers, not bothering to sound pleasant, and lifts an open hand.

Sam feels the familiar pull of angel flight, but when he blinks, he’s still where he was.

“I think not,“ Gabriel says.

Metatron grits his teeth.

“Do you really want to play tug of war with me, Gabriel?“

“Nah. Not really. I was thinking more like gladiator games.“ Gabriel smiles his nastiest smile and a blade slides into his palm.

It doesn’t faze Metatron.

“You actually don’t remember, do you?“ he muses, looking pleased with himself, then shakes his head. “As funny as it would be to watch the rabid Winchester pack try to tear down the hero, I have better things-“

He abruptly cuts off, his mouth slack. And maybe it’s that Sam anticipated it, but he can’t help but notice how Gabriel suddenly looks somehow taller, how Gadreel straightened as if something pulled him up, how Anpiel took a deep breath like someone who was submerged for too long and now can finally taste fresh air. In the space of seconds, Metatron goes from condescending to livid.

“What did you do? Where are the other three?!“

Gabriel waggles his eyebrows at him.

“Sorry. A bit too late to worry about that now. Stay here with us, will ya? We’d miss you.”

And Metatron grows calm. That’s the one thing Sam didn’t expect from him: the readiness of a fighter. The calculating look of a general, all his fury packed away and locked behind intellect.

“You are my dog, Gabriel,“ he says and it sounds like a code phrase, like a spell. “Kill them for me. I’ll call you soon.“

With that he vanishes, seemingly effortlessly even though Gabriel was supposed to try to hold him down.

In the heavy silence afterwards they can only watch as Gabriel’s face turns slowly, terrifyingly blank.


	33. Chapter 33

“Gabriel? Gabriel! Talk to us!“

“Gabriel. Keep in control. Drop your sword.“

“Yeah. Snap out of it, Gabe. Don’t let that dickhead get to you.“

None of their words, Sam’s or Gadreel’s or Dean’s, have any effect. The archangel remains uncharacteristically silent and expressionless. Then he moves, five quick steps and a turn to face them, and freezes again.

Cas once called the archangels Heaven’s most terrifying weapons. That’s what Gabriel seems to be now: a weapon, cold, unflinching and ready. The only sign there’s some of his own will left in him is that he didn’t attack yet.

Then he sweeps his hand, absentminded as if shooing away a gnat and Sam loses all the air in his lungs as he flies backwards and lands in the field, leaving a furrow in the wheat. For the few seconds it takes him to get up he loses sight of everybody else, but there is a clash of blades nearby.

Gadreel fights, his back to the Winchesters, blocking Gabriel’s way to them. Anpiel circles hesitantly around, looking for an opening, and Dean is gathering himself up the same way Sam is, looking just as unharmed.

But if their impromptu flight was much shorter and less violent than Gabriel could make it, he seems to have lost all ability to control himself now. The blows he trades with Gadreel are vicious and fast, both angels aiming to kill. Just as Sam takes in the scene, Gadreel slashes across Gabriel’s midsection, a flash of bright light escaping the wound. Gabriel hisses and retaliates, Gadreel barely blocking a thrust that would have pierced his lung. What would cripple a lesser angel doesn’t even slow Gabriel, the wound already healing.

That’s when Sam fully realizes what he sees.

Gadreel’s blade isn’t an archangel’s sword. No matter how it looks, he can’t kill Gabriel. None of their weapons can.

It’s not just good news: Gabriel can afford to be reckless and it makes him even more dangerous. But it allows Sam to join Anpiel in her slow circle around the combatants.

They have a chance to capture Gabriel.

If they don’t get killed first. But Gadreel is doing a good job at standing his ground, favoring his defense and proving himself just enough of a threat to keep Gabriel occupied.

Sam and Anpiel draw closer – and in a moment when Gabriel is ignoring them completely, Sam strikes, aiming for the archangel’s back.

Fast like a viper, Gabriel turns on his heel, letting the tip of Sam's blade glance his arm and burying the hilt of his sword in Sam's gut. The hunter tries to go with the punch, but even then he staggers backwards, bent in half and for a few seconds all but blind, deaf and defenseless.

When next he looks, his sight still a blur, all three angels are contorted in some sort of a complicated three person sculpture. Before he can recognize which limb is whose and who is winning, there is a flash and burn of gold and red, and an inhuman yell that makes him cover his ears.

Then another flash, this time of white light, a brief rush of wings and silence.

Breathing carefully through the pain in his stomach, blinking away involuntary tears, Sam stumbles towards a lone figure that remained huddled on the ground, curled on its side.

“Gadreel? Hey! Gadreel!“

He’s alive, that much is clear: his eyes are wide open in shock, his fingers digging into his own shoulders so hard his knuckles are white, his weapon lying discarded nearby. But he doesn’t react, not even when Sam lays a hand on his arm.

“Man,“ Dean says hesitantly somewhere above them, “how is he still here?“

When Sam looks up at him, brows furrowed, Dean shakes out his jacket in explanation, still recognizable remains of an angel banishing sigil painted on its underside.

Of course. There wasn’t anywhere else to paint it. Sam grimaces in commiseration.

“Yeah, it’ll be a bitch to clean off, but what the fuck happened here? You think he’s the vessel?“

“No idea. Gadreel? Do you hear me?“

And finally, the angel – or the man – responds:

“I hear you.“ A pause in which he curls up even tighter, apparently trying to get his bearings. “I’m still here.”

The angel, then. Sam isn’t really sure why he’s relieved, but it seems he isn’t the only one, because Dean responds with:

“Good, but how?“

Again it takes Gadreel a while to gather his words, and even then they’re halting, uneven and laced with pain.

“The sigil, it captures an angel’s wings, carries him away. Even damaged, just not as far. Gabriel, he- He burned away my wings.“

Sam looks up into Dean’s grim face, helpless. He knows he can’t imagine what this means to Gadreel, and even the little he can imagine is a staggering loss.

Dean shrugs on his jacket, blood and all, to get his hands free, and crouches down next to them.

“Okay. Let’s get you into the Impala. We’re finished here. Can you walk?“

“I… don’t know.“

Gadreel, when they help him sit, moves like a ninety years old; like someone broken in several important places, as if the wings he lost ran through his very core and he doesn’t know how to function without them. Maybe it’s true. Sam forbids himself to think about it, at least until they’re back in the safety of the Bunker. Almost as an afterthought he stashes both his and Gadreel’s blade in his own jacket before they get ready to drag the Sentry up.

“Hey, Michael.“

Sam looks up, startled. It’s the first time he hears Dean voluntarily pray to Michael – and without a hint of mockery.

“Watch out for Gabriel. Metatron has some mind whammy on him, he’s not on our side at the moment. I think he’s trying not to kill, but I wouldn’t bet on it if I were you.“

And this is why Sam will never stop admiring his brother. Unlike him, Dean didn’t forget they’re still in the middle of a battle, even if it already ended on their end.

“Yeah,“ he joins. “Michael, Lucifer, Cas. Be careful, all of you. Metatron is somehow controlling Gabriel. I think he got him when he had him captured and then made him forget about it. So, Cas, please, avoid Metatron, just in case.“

He can see Dean’s mouth harden into a severe line.

“If any of you two hurt Cas, there’ll be hell to pay. I don’t care how hard it gets, you hear me? We stick together, even in this.“

“Agreed. By the way, we’re all alive. Gabriel and Anpiel are banished, Gadreel is injured. We’re going to get him to safety. Good luck.“

o.O.o

“Castiel,“ Michael says, not looking at him. “Go back to the base.“

By his side, Castiel doesn’t move. In front of him, Metatron smiles.

“That’s a strange command, Castiel, isn’t it? What do you think? Is he trying to protect you, or is he already building his position for later, making sure you won’t get much credit for this battle? How much of a threat to him are you?“

Right now, more of a threat than Michael is comfortable with. They’re all already armed, all angels both on Michael’s side and Metatron’s. The only one without a blade in his hand is Metatron himself, lounging as if he had no need for it – as if he didn’t bring anyone who he could scrap up on such a short notice. Castiel stands too close; if he’s Metatron’s, by his own will or not, Michael will be hard pressed to defend from him.

He nearly lashes out when there’s the tiniest movement from Castiel, and only after the fact he realizes what stopped him: a change to Castiel’s Grace that registered first, like mismatched shards sliding against each other to present a less jagged whole.

Castiel has just disarmed.

Without a word, the younger angel turns and begins to pick his path through their brothers and sisters, the notorious rebel leader obeying for once.

Or maybe just not contrary enough to change his mind, considering withdrawing from the battle is the only reasonable course of action even Michael can see. Castiel is unpredictable, but not stupid.

“Castiel!“ Metatron’s voice is sharp, challenging, and Michael feels a chill running down his spine. He doesn’t dare to let his enemy out of his sight, so he doesn’t know if Castiel stopped. “Don’t you want to know where your Grace is?“

“We’ll get that information out of you,“ Michael promises him, both to convince Castiel and to interrupt Metatron. “After.“

Metatron gives him a grimace that maybe could be called a smile. “Strong words. That’s your weakness, Michael. You’re unable to adjust your strategy. You still think you’re at the top of the world.“

Nothing could be further from the truth. Michael is perfectly aware how precarious his position is. He knows Lucifer has reached the Garden: even if he couldn’t read the energy reverberating all across Heaven in the wake of the passage of so many souls, the simple fact that Metatron and his faction can’t enter is proof enough that someone else is there and blocking the path. But the original plan was to gather as many angels as possible in the Garden, to make sure they have enough power to destroy Metatron’s connection to Heaven’s source. The original plan was also for Metatron to still be on Earth when he returns to his original strength, so that he could be subsequently apprehended or killed by Gabriel, Gadreel and the Winchesters.

Instead he’s here, pressed with his handful of angels between the Garden and Michael. It may look like being surrounded, but if Lucifer doesn’t manage to break his power on his own, Michael’s side is actually at a disadvantage, even without the threat of Gabriel arriving.

Especially since Michael’s objective is to save Heaven and as many of his siblings as he possibly can. He can’t afford a battle to the last warrior standing.

The same can’t be said about Metatron.

Michael’s only hope is to let Metatron talk while Lucifer tries to undo his link to Heaven on his own.

o.O.o

It’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done, retreating from the impending battle. He’s become too human in those past few years. The reasonable thing to do isn’t the only possible course of action anymore, and it grates. Everything in him insists that this is his fight, his responsibility. Those are his allies fighting against an enemy who arose through his own naivety.

It doesn’t help that he doesn’t trust those allies all too much. Or that try as he might, he can’t find anything in his memories that would indicate Metatron worked on him the same way he must have on Gabriel. No gaps, at least: time trickled unbearably slow from one identical minute to the next, but he didn’t lose any.

Is it possible for a powered-up Scribe of God to rewrite an angel’s memory like a loop in a security feed?

He’s nearly to the gate they all built to access Heaven once it was opened when he hears a prayer.

 _“Castiel? It’s me, Kevin Tran.”_ Not as if the Prophet needed to introduce himself. His inner voice is unmistakable, carrying authority the boy rarely shows face to face; he probably isn’t even aware he has it. _“I really hope you’re in the Garden by now. I think I got something. You know how we wondered how Metatron created the connection to Heaven when he didn’t have any other angel there to support him? If I’m reading this right, he didn’t need all your Grace for the evacuation spell. He didn’t need to take it by force, either. Just a little, freely given, would have been enough. I think he used the rest of it to secure the connection. And I think you should be there. You’re the angel that Grace belongs to, so I think it will be easier for you to untangle it from the link. Just take it back or something. Honestly, I don’t know if it’s possible to break the connection without you there, it’s not really clear. But if you’re not there… I think you’ll lose it. Your Grace, I mean. Sorry for the short notice.“_

Castiel slows down, then stops. Tries to reconsider with clear head, meticulously setting aside his pride and his need to feel whole again and still not sure he succeeded when the option he might be greater help than risk after all tempts him so strongly.

But Lucifer is alone in the Garden and even though he’s the most skilled among them in those matters, the one angel who has the chance of undoing the link on his own, they never planned for this.

From behind him, echoes of the first angel dying reach him, cruel like something biting out a piece of himself. Even after all those deaths he still isn’t used to the sensation, to the sudden emptiness where one of his siblings should be. There’s so few of them left and there’s nothing to stand between him and the loss, not the voices of the Leviathan in his head and not the comforting barriers of flesh and matter that make the feeling less immediate on Earth.

Castiel turns and flies back, as fast as he’s able.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, I know. Note to self: Don’t ever again flirt with a new fandom when your last chapter ended in a cliffhanger. You’ll end up reading instead of writing.  
> I’m sorry.  
> I think the next chapter will conclude the battle (but not the story). See you then?


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of the battle.

The battle, as observed from above, isn’t as intense as it could be, mostly because Metatron isn’t interested in it. It looks like his angels, the few of them there are, are supposed to hold off Michael’s forces while the Scribe throws all of his considerable power into entering the Garden. The very fabric of Heaven groans under the onslaught.

Luckily most of Metatron’s soldiers aren’t too eager to lay their lives down for him, and Michael in turn isn’t trying very hard to cut through them. Knowing Michael, it’s as much unwillingness to slaughter his siblings as the awareness that he’d end up face to face with an enemy who can kill him with a snap of his fingers. There’s simply no advantage to pushing too hard right now.

Which begs the question how can Castiel slip into the Garden while Metatron is pounding at the gate.

Deep in thought, Castiel lands off to the side, wings trembling. The initial surge of renewal after Heaven was reopened went only so far; he can fly again, but only within Heaven, not too fast and not for long.

It makes him wonder what else was renewed. Like the communication between angels, the ‘angel radio’, as Dean calls it. Without the hub of Heaven, the transmissions were garbled, the connection unstable and unpredictable, reaching more or fewer angels than intended, or sometimes none at all. As months wore on and factions found other, more reliable ways to communicate, the background noise of the Host petered down to almost nothing.

It’s worth a try. Concentrating, Castiel reaches out to a single brother, hoping beyond hope he’s not alerting Metatron to his presence and intentions.

_“Gadreel. Gadreel, do you hear me?“_

There’s silence, and then pain blooms through him, concentrating the most on his back, even the echo of it enough to make him seize and hunch where he stands. Then a voice, uncertain and wavering.

_“Yes. Who is this?“_

The question takes him by surprise for a second, then relief hits him. It’s really Gadreel: nobody else would have gone without angel contact so long that he can’s recognize one sibling from another anymore. Even though they talked once in Heaven, it was face to face, which is always a bit different, and Gadreel sounds barely conscious.

_“Castiel. Brother, I need your help.“_

Another wave of pain. _“There’s not much that is within my power right now, I’m afraid.“_

_“Just an advice,“_ Castiel amends. _“You guarded Eden once. Do you know of any backdoor?“_

Again the silence on the other end is so long that he’s afraid he lost the connection. He also needs to limit what he reveals, because while he’s talking to the one he wants, he can’t be sure nobody overhears.

_“What is the situation?“_

_“Lucifer is in the Garden, Metatron is trying to get in, so I can’t use the gate. Michael is fighting Metatron’s forces, but even if he got at Metatron, I don’t think he could create enough of a diversion for me to slip in. I need to take part in dismantling Metatron’s link to Heaven because according to our source at the main base, my Grace is involved. It’s possible I’m the only one who can.“_

_“There’s currently only one gate into the Garden,“_ Gadreel makes sure.

_“Yes.“_

_“Then Lucifer managed to bring Eden to the forefront.“_

_“Yes,“_ Castiel repeats, biting back his impatience. They talked about it during the planning, how Eden itself is the most likely place where Metatron rooted his power and also the most defendable of all the facets of the center of Heaven. They decided this together, Michael and Gadreel telling the rest of them how to make Eden manifest in place of the Garden, so that anybody they don’t want in stays out. Gadreel is severely injured, it’s understandable his thoughts are sluggish, but Castiel isn’t certain how long he can hold the connection.

Surely it’s just his imagination that he can hear Gadreel’s labored breaths on the other end of their link; he’s too used to phone calls by now, his mind filling in the blanks with things that have no place in a telepathic contact between angels.

_“Then Lucifer is the current Sentry of Eden,“_ Gadreel says at last, and Castiel gives up on deciphering the emotions behind that statement before he even starts. _“The walls he guards are exactly as impenetrable as he wants them to be. You don’t have to be at the gate to enter. He can create the backdoor for you anywhere in the wall if you convince him to do so.“_

The silence afterwards feels like closing of a door on Gadreel’s side, whether it’s exhaustion or unwillingness to continue that shuts it.

Castiel thanks him anyway.

 

It takes him almost a whole minute to move undetected to the other side of the Garden. All the paths in Heaven lead to its center, but only a few of them allow stepping sideways. By the time the wall of Eden finally rises in front of him, he’s exhausted like a seagull flying against a storm for too long, but at least he’s fairly certain he isn’t being followed. His conversation with Gadreel didn’t reach Metatron’s side, then.

He lays his hand against the barrier and it’s as much to get some rest as to connect to whatever is happening within, but there’s no time to waste.

Once more he concentrates and hopes to get the right angel.

_“Lucifer, this is Castiel. Do you hear me?“_

What he gets is a wordless, interested hum of an established link. He shakes his head.

_“I need more than that. I need to be sure it’s you.“_

The other’s amusement reaches him without a hint of an attempt at concealing it.

_“I’m listening, little brother.“_

Castiel’s breath catches in his throat. Of all the ways he imagined Lucifer to sound now, after everything, this is the voice he hasn’t expected to hear: clear and pure like it was at the beginning. The very reason a creature who prides itself on never outright lying is called the Prince of Lies: this is a voice made to state simple, obvious truths, compelling without a hint of duplicity. It brings back memories of the eldest archangels’ final arguments that tore the Host in two: Michael’s call to duty, a promise of glory and an echo of God’s power in it against Lucifer’s warning, the foreknowledge of all that can go wrong in humanity painted so vividly that it felt as if it already happened. Both of them asked their siblings to do what is right, one of them to obey God and one of them to save Creation’s purity.

Castiel isn’t proud to remember that he chose a side not out of loyalty to God, but out of loyalty to his closest friends. It was only his luck that those – most of those – belonged to Michael’s camp. Maybe he was too human even then, adhering to personal bonds rather than any greater cause.

_“Castiel?“_

He breaks himself from the haze of memories.

_“Yes. Lucifer, I need you to let me in. Our source at the main base told me my Grace was probably used in Metatron’s link to Heaven and that I have the best chance of untangling it.“_

_“M-hm. Funny, Sam Winchester prayed to me and told me that you might be Metatron’s at the moment.“_

Castiel lets out a frustrated breath. Lucifer’s caution is both understandable and unfortunate.

_“I heard the same, which is why I left the battle. You can ask Michael if you want, but I’m not sure how reliable the communication is. I already risked it twice and I can’t be sure nobody else hears us.“_

_“Twice?“_

_“Gadreel. Which is how I know you can let me in from where I stand. Lucifer, are you having any luck with Metatron’s link? If not, letting me in is our best bet. I’m a risk, yes, but if we don’t strip Metatron of his power soon, we lose anyway.“_

Again all he gets is a vague hum, this time thoughtful. Lucifer doesn’t break off the connection, but neither does the wall under Castiel’s hand show any signs of weakening. It takes several minutes, a dozen more deaths, for Lucifer to either make up his mind or figure out how to create the opening.

Castiel slips through the crack that appears before him and rushes to join his older brother at the center of Eden, passing the souls Lucifer must have brought with him. Most of them don’t seem to be doing anything, wandering the expanse of Eden in awe, but some stand guard near the wall, strenghtening it. He can only imagine how it looks at the gate.

As he draws near, Lucifer watches him cautiously, but Castiel barely has a glance for him.

Kevin was right. That’s his own Grace singing to him from the low, rough fountain gurgling away in the shade of the tall surrounding trees. Elated, he reaches for it.

Nothing happens. He can feel it at his fingertips, feel the pull of it, but he can’t draw it to him, into him. It’s ensnared, entangled with the fabric of Heaven, and as he explores the spellwork, he realizes how dire the situation is.

Being here at its center is like holding the whole of Heaven on the palm of his hand, and already the state of it chills him to the core. There are places wearing thin, the safe cocoons sheltering the souls of the good and righteous growing flimsy in places, releasing their confused inhabitants into endless corridors and other, less imaginable spaces. There are hairline fractures, there are waves of fine tremors threatening to break apart the ground beneath their feet. And the fountain bubbles higher, angrier as Metatron continues his onslaught, drawing with abandon from the source he bound to himself.

“Let’s try this again,“ Lucifer suggests. Castiel nods and follows Lucifer’s example the best he can, two sets of nimble fingers and nimbler minds trying to unroot Metatron’s spell from where it saps away the power of Heaven like a parasitic vine.

It holds firm. It’s tantalizing. His Grace responds to him, tugs at him, lets him handle it easier than it does Lucifer, but every time he thinks it’s free enough to draw into himself, it suddenly slips from his grasp and returns to the fountain.

Three different approaches they try, all in vain. The whole Heaven is shaking now. There are fewer deaths to be felt, the angels probably too busy trying to keep their footing, preparing to fly if necessary on tender, barely renewed wings.

“Castiel,“ Lucifer says, a strange weight in his voice.

Castiel turns to him – and before he can react, there is a flash of silver and pain, all too familiar pain, in his throat. Paralyzed, he can only look as Lucifer outstretches a hand and pulls his borrowed Grace out of him. Panic settles in as he’s scoured clean, the jagged edges that poisoned him ever since he stole an essence not his own burning and cutting on their way out. Without them, he’s purified but also empty, a powerless shell of an angel, and Lucifer’s eyes are cold, studying him with detached curiosity.

He has a few seconds to hate himself for once more falling for someone’s trick. Then Lucifer clasps the nape of his neck and forces him to bend face first into the fountain.

“Breathe.“

He doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s an instinct, a natural reaction to his Grace’s closeness. He draws a breath and his Grace pours in, all the knots and tangles of Metatron’s handiwork not enough to hinder it. It’s like dawn breaking behind his eyelids with a flash of light over a dark ocean, glory and power, song and healing, and it fills gaps in him he hasn’t realized were there until now.

It’s also over far too soon.

o.O.o

Lucifer watches as his brother straightens up, glaring and disgruntled like a wet cat but also finally, blessedly whole, so that Lucifer can look at him with some sense of pride instead of the jarring sensation of wrongness. He’s weak, though: there clearly wasn’t enough of his Grace left to let him ascend to his former power. He’s somewhere on the level of the lowest ranks and Lucifer isn’t sure it will ever get better.

But at least he’s like Lucifer himself, diminished but not crippled, and he’s not dying anymore. Lucifer will count that as a win among other wins. The most notable one being the rapidly quieting fountain, Metatron’s link quickly disintegrating without one of its crucial components. There are still tremors running through Heaven, but at least they aren’t growing stronger anymore.

He shrugs, probably a little too smug to pull out casual. “Sorry. I saw your Grace drawn to you, but you were already occupied. Had to make space for it.“

Castiel’s glare intensifies.

“You could have warned me.“

“And you’d tense up and it would be much harder to get it all out.“

Not to mention he wasn’t sure Castiel would trust him enough.

Castiel still stares at him and Lucifer braces himself for the inevitable question. The one he’s not looking forward, because no, he wasn’t sure it will work.

Castiel only nods.

“Thank you.“

It sounds like a lot like a concession and a little like mercy. If the still taut line of Castiel’s shoulders is anything to go by, his silence on the matter is deliberate. Maybe because he already figured out the answer. Maybe he doesn’t want to know for the sake of whatever peace is between them.

“Let’s go help Michael.“

To that, Lucifer agrees wholeheartedly.

 

They arrive just in time to see Hannah take Metatron’s remaining soldiers into custody. Michael is nowhere to be seen. Turns out he took off after Metatron when he suddenly stopped attacking the gate and ran. Michael brought a handful of the fastest, least injured angels with him, but the chances they’ll catch the Scribe are slim. Unlike them, Metatron knows where his own secret doors out of Heaven are.

Of course, it wouldn’t be Michael if he gave up easily – and who knows, maybe he’ll get lucky.

In the meantime, it’s up to Lucifer, Hannah and Castiel to keep some sort of order in Heaven. They make quick work of it. Tending to the wounded from both sides comes first, then Metatron’s angels are sent to the prison for now, at least until everything settles down. Hannah suggests leaving the human souls who helped during the battle where they are for now, mostly because Eden is both safe and walled, so they won’t go wandering all over. At least that’s the reason she gives him, though he suspects there will be talk of deserved rewards and proper care once Michael returns. Castiel proposes a part of their forces to go check on the state of Heaven and round up the souls released from their units, a job for which he volunteers. It reminds Lucifer that someone should take a look at the border between Heaven and the Veil, too. Soon all the angels disperse, going after their tasks.

Lucifer sets up camp in front of the gate of Eden to coordinate the efforts. He keeps Hannah with him, mostly to ward off suspicion that he wants to take over completely.

A few hours later, Michael arrives, exhausted and empty-handed as expected but with his head held high for the sake of his underlings.

Lucifer meets him a few steps off the gate and greets him wordlessly, forehead against forehead and wings entwined, and takes an indulgently long moment to bask in the fact that they’re both here, victorious and alive.

Then he steps back, smiles, gives his report and heads to the nearest portal down to Earth.

He wants to be the first to give Sam Winchester the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus endeth my first ever attempt at writing an epic final battle. :) Okay, showdown, not much of the battle included. Hope it wasn’t too terrible.  
> If it was, rest assured that the remaining few chapters will again focus mostly on the characters and their relationships, amidst wrapping up some loose ends.  
> Thank you for sticking with me this far.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for… something that is a spoiler. There may or may not be minor character death in this chapter, implied or described. If you’d rather know what to expect, please read the end notes first.  
> Also, alcohol consumption as a sort of coping mechanism.

It’s not over.

What a strange notion. So far, every chapter closing in his life was clear-cut, precisely defined. The beginnings, his Father’s big acts of creation. The failed experiment with the Leviathan, ending in the greatest, most glorious battle the Host ever fought. The so-called First war, his fall. The Apocalypse and his second fall. There aren’t many loose ends to be wrapped up when you’re locked up in a box.

This, this is different. And not only because Metatron is on the run, presumably with Gabriel still in his pocket. (The thought makes him pace the Bunker in fury. They already started research into the possible source of the binding and into revealing Gabriel’s whereabouts, but _started_ is the key, unpleasant word there.) No, what leaves an itch under his skin is the way everything just… continues.

Michael stays in Heaven for now, busy picking up the pieces and rearranging them into some sort of a new order that will hopefully be more functional than the last one. He keeps Hannah at his side, because – unlike Castiel or even Lucifer himself – she’s a practical kind of idealist, a proponent of free will who understands it needs to be balanced with rules, especially when applied by those who are still experimenting with it. Lucifer wouldn’t want to be subject to her rules, but even he has to admit complete freedom didn’t serve his siblings well.

Castiel found his own niche, taking part in creating a new arrangement for human souls under the Host’s care. It mostly consists of running back and forth between the Bunker and Heaven, having long-winded discussions with Kevin Tran and, more often than not, staying for dinner. Sometimes a movie. And a good chunk of the night afterwards.

He claims it’s because he needs some rest before he can make the flight back to Heaven. Lucifer keeps his silence on the matter, though he knows full well that Castiel’s renewal in Eden gave him a pair of perfectly functioning wings for his current size. Definitely strong enough to let him make a safe trip back within an hour or so, and a comfortable one a few hours later.

They never talk about anything else what happened that day in the Garden, either. The closest they got was while discussing whether Castiel can be unknowingly Metatron’s or not. Any tests they thought to perform on him didn’t bring up anything. Gadreel thinks there wasn’t any manipulation at all, because Castiel’s borrowed Grace was too unstable to carry it. Lucifer suggested that if Metatron tried anything, it was neutralized when Castiel got his own Grace back. Either way they’re reasonably sure Castiel is clean, though there will be a shadow of doubt until they know what was done to Gabriel.

As for Lucifer, he stays in the Bunker. He doesn’t offer any excuses and doesn’t ask anybody’s permission and it works just fine. Dean gives him an occasional stink eye, but it’s mild and seems to be mostly for show.

Dean is not the one whose approval he cares about, anyway.

From the plethora of sensations Sam can draw from his vessel, Lucifer would never have guessed he’ll like the calming ones just as much as the most intense, but it’s true. He’s currently sprawled along the length of Sam’s bed with his head in the hunter’s lap and Sam’s fingers carding through his hair and if he could purr, he would. Every once in a while the fingers stop, but all it takes is to move his head a little and Sam resumes his task.

He blames the bliss for the fact that it takes him much longer than it normally would to realize that Sam needs to be reminded a bit too often, not to mention how many times he has shifted his weight under him.

“You’re restless,“ Lucifer comments idly.

Sam stills.

“Sorry.“

He dutifully returns to the petting as if that was the reason Lucifer spoke up and Lucifer will have none of it. He snatches the book Sam was staring into without turning the pages for the past ten minutes, lays it face down on his stomach and seeks out his lover’s eyes.

“Sam, what is it?“

The hunter hesitates, then shakes his head, his gaze skittering away.

“Nothing, just-“ He pauses, then huffs, one corner of his mouth drawing up in self-irony. “I guess I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. This was too easy.”

“It didn’t feel easy from my end.“

“From your end. That’s the point. Lucifer, in those past few years the world was about to end at least three times and it was all on us, and whenever we managed to somehow solve it, at least one of us ended up dead. Or as good as dead. Now we hardly did anything, but Heaven is saved, everybody is alive, nobody betrayed anyone if you don’t count Metatron messing with Gabriel and I don’t know, it’s too good to be true. I know it’s paranoid, but I’m a Winchester. We don’t get breaks.“

He breaks off, then grimaces.

“Forget it. I think I’m just twitchy because Metatron is still out there and we need to get Gabriel back.“

Lucifer grins up at him affectionately.

“You really are perfect for me.“

This time he gets a real laugh out of Sam, even if it’s short.

“What brought that on?“

Lucifer smiles at him wryly.

“Think about it, Sam. How the last few times I took part in any sort of conflict ended for me.“

There’s a short silence.

“Oh.“

“Oh,“ Lucifer agrees.

They don’t talk about it again.

o.O.o

On the eleventh day after the battle, Sam’s phone rings where it lays next to the tome he’s skimming for ideas on binding an angel’s will. Frowning, he glances at the screen. His eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, then he frowns again.

“Guys? You’ll want to hear this.“

Kevin blinks at him owlishly from where he’s still digging into the Tablet. Dean perks up cautiously, undoubtedly hoping for a hunt to replace the endless research. Sam picks up the call and immediately sets it to speaker.

“It’s Sam,“ he says shortly.

“Samwise! Just the overgrown yetti I’ve been hoping to get.” Gabriel’s distinctive voice fills the room, tinted with relief. “Please tell me you have Metadouche trussed up and stashed somewhere. Or dead. That would work even better.“

Sam lets out a long breath.

“Sorry, not sure I should be telling you anything,” he replies and belatedly thinks to send a quick prayer to Lucifer, who is delving into the Bunker’s deepest bowels, perusing sources not even the Men of Letters understood enough to catalogue. He doesn’t flinch when Lucifer appears by his side barely a second later.

“So that’s a no.“ Gabriel’s grimace is audible. “So he’s what? Still running Heaven?“ A short pause. “Anybody dead I should care about?“

Sam exchanges a quick glance with Dean, who shrugs.

“Everybody’s alive,“ he takes pity on the archangel. “Metatron lost, but he’s on the run. Have you seen him since we last saw you?“

“Nope. See, the banishment was a splendid idea. You have my permission to tell Dean I said so, if he’s not listening in. It was enough of a shock to let me break out of whatever the hell it was Metatron did to me. Long enough to lock myself up, anyway, so when I went back under and he tried to call me, I couldn’t go to him. Wasn’t nice, let me tell you, but it beat the alternative. So.” Whatever genuine smugness and forced cheer there was in his speech so far, he drops them now. “I kind of need you – and I mean the whole gang – to pick me up. I don’t think I’m clean. I’m not asking you to rescue me. But I have a nasty feeling that if you don’t come for me, Metatron will. Or I find a way out of my own trap when he calls next. I’m pretty sure you want that even less than I do.“

Sam nods, even though Gabriel can’t see it.

“Where are you?“

“Now that might be a _tiny_ problem,” Gabriel admits. “On Earth, somewhere more or less in the same time zone. Other than that I have no idea.“

“Alright. Stay on the line, we’ll track you.“

“Atta boy!“

Sam rolls his eyes and reaches for his laptop.

 

It’s a few hours before they’re ready to go. Some of it is waiting for Cas and Michael. Some of it is waiting for nightfall, discussing options they already discussed just to have something to do. They won’t be taking the Impala this time: even Dean agrees that Costa Rica is a bit too far and too inconvenient for a car ride.

Sam steps outside before they leave, looking around in the dusk and then walking a short distance down the road. Gadreel rises from where he was sitting by the wide trunk of a tree and joins him, giving him that kind of silent, intense attention that still makes Sam uneasy when it comes from him, even after everything that went down recently.

At least the angel moves almost normally now. The general consensus is that he’ll remain crippled, wingless, the boost he got from Heaven reopening not enough to renew something that was so thoroughly burned out of him.

Sam doesn’t want to think about it.

“We’ve found Gabriel,“ he tells him without preamble. “We’re going to pick him up. I'm not sure how long we'll be gone, but it shouldn't be more than a few hours."

Gadreel nods.

"Who is 'we'?"

"Dean, me, Lucifer, Michael."

Gadreel considers the information carefully, his face unreadable, then he nods again. Hesitates, then asks gently: "Castiel is with Kevin Tran?"

"Yeah, he’s here."

After Gadreel's stand against Gabriel, Sam would probably consider it safe enough to leave him alone with his once-victim, but neither he nor Dean are going to do that to Kevin unless they have to. It’s a relief that Gadreel seems to share the opinion. It’s much less of a relief that he still treats them as his jailers, or at least probation officers. Though he’s allowed outside now, he never wanders off, always keeping within sight of the Bunker’s main door or at least within a hearing distance, and once a day he shows up inside for no other apparent reason than to let them see him there.

"I'll stay here," Gadreel promises after a moment, and there’s a heaviness in his tone that doesn’t sit right with Sam. "I'll wait for Michael to call me."

It’s on the tip of Sam’s tongue to ask why Gadreel thinks Michael will call him. Far as he knows, Michael doesn’t want anything to do with the former Sentry, happy pretending he doesn’t exist. Gadreel doesn’t seem hopeful about the summons he expects, either, doesn’t behave as if he thought he proved himself and might get a place among the Host.

Even though he did prove himself, at least in Sam’s eyes. But this is a mess that isn’t up to Sam to untangle. It’s between Gadreel, Michael and the other angels.

“Right. I’ll let you know when we’re back.“

Gadreel almost smiles.

“Thank you.“

 

In an eerie repeat performance of when they first caught him, they find Gabriel in another abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of San José. This time it’s locked, the padlock too rusted to be picked easily. At Michael’s touch it falls away, the chain it was connected to rattling against the metal door in a burst of sound, too sudden and loud in the night. They wait for a minute, but nothing stirs save for the offended cat that meows at them from the mouth of the adjoining alley and darts away.

With frankly horrible creaking the Winchesters push the door open enough for them both to look inside, guns at the ready and flashlights illuminating the darkness.

They catch Gabriel on the first sweep. He looks tiny standing in the middle of the cavernous space, but he gives them a jaunty little wave when the light spills over him.

He’s not smiling.

Sam lowers his weapon but keeps the flashlight trained on him while Dean continues to explore the warehouse, the beam of light sliding over white and black lines of enochian sigils. They are everywhere, interconnected in patterns Sam has never seen before, crawling over the ground, up the walls, even over the ceiling. The only bare spot is a small circle in which Gabriel stands. The impression is claustrophobic, a cage painted into a metal box. He can only guess how it feels to the archangel, but he finally understands why Gabriel insisted his brothers don’t step in until they figure out how to safely get through the wards.

“Your job?“ Dean asks, grudging respect apparent in his voice.

Gabriel shrugs. “The best I could do on a short notice.“

And Sam can picture it, that moment of clarity. The absolute fury of a bound archangel, determined not to give his captor anything. The panic of a wild animal rushing headlong from one trap into another because the other one smells slightly better.

“So how do we get you out of there?“ he asks, matter-of-fact for Gabriel’s sake.

“Very carefully,“ Gabriel quips.

It takes two hours and a creatively used safety ladder. It’s probably a testament to how crazy his life is that balancing on the highest rungs of a ladder that really shouldn’t be propped up in the middle of a room, crossing out carefully picked sigils while two angels shout advice at him and the third one helps Dean hold him up from a distance, looking all dramatic with an outstretched hand and a look of concentration on his face, doesn’t count anywhere near the most bizarre things he’s done. At least Lucifer was able to provide them with some light beyond the beams of the flashlights once enough symbols were neutralized. Under his touch the white sigils started to glow faintly, just enough to see by once the effect spread to the whole warehouse, and even though it made the black ones seem somehow darker and not a little disturbing, the soft illumination definitely helped Sam work faster.

Still it feels like a small eternity before they finally gather at the edge of Gabriel’s circle, ready for the next step. Gabriel slowly looks at them, one after another, measuring Michael and Lucifer a little longer than the hunters, and then steels his resolve with a huff and a shrug that fails to look casual.

“Go ahead.“

Not so long ago from an angel’s perspective, one of his brothers would hunt him down if he knew he was alive. The other killed him. Now he lets them bind him, wrap him in layers of incantations so elaborate and strong that he can hardly see anymore, much less move when they are done.

Sam has never seen Michael so openly gentle as when they finish up and both lay a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder to take him away, Lucifer for once a perfect mirror of his older brother in both expression and action.

They vanish in a rustle of wings to set Gabriel up in the Bunker’s dungeon – his own choice as opposed to Heaven, offered by Michael. Interestingly, Michael’s attempt at convincing him never crossed the line into pushing. It leaves Sam wondering if it’s a level of consideration and respect only Gabriel and Lucifer earned from him, or a good sign for all the angels under Michael’s new rule.

“So. I guess that’s it, then.“

Broken out of his reverie, Sam studies his brother for a moment in the low light, then averts his eyes.

“Metatron’s still out there somewhere,“ he counters.

“Sure, and when we find him, we gank him, or Michael drags him upstairs, or whatever. But he’s not the big nasty anymore. I figure, maybe it’s time to hit the road again. Get back to saving people.“

Sam nods, more to confirm he gets it than to agree. It’s tempting; it takes him by surprise how much. To return back to their old life, to deal with ghosts and vampires instead of demons and angels, to hunt the little monsters instead of scrambling desperately to protect people from another world-wide disaster they’re one way or another responsible for.

Yes, it sounds good.

It also won’t be so simple. They will have a bored archangel in their basement and a prophet who still can’t leave the Bunker, Gadreel lurking in the surrounding woods and the Devil who is more at home in Sam’s bed by now than his own. There are angels all over the world who had gone to ground instead of returning to Heaven, exploring free will with worse results than children playing with matchsticks. And yet-

“Okay.“

Dean glances at him suspiciously.

“Okay?“

“Yeah, Dean. Let’s do that. We’ll have to take it easy for a while – we can’t leave Kevin on his own all the time – but yeah. Let’s get back to hunting.“

Dean straightens a little, almost smiles.

“Good.“

o.O.o

Michael does ask for Gadreel as he’s getting ready to leave, looking so grave about it that the feeling something is wrong only intensifies. Sam grabs the flashlight again, not bothering to check Gadreel’s room first even though it’s past two in the morning.

As expected, he finds Gadreel exactly where he left him, looking as if he was one of those New Age types communing with nature, his forehead and palms pressed against the same tree he was sitting by before.

Maybe he is. Sam has no idea what angels are like when they aren’t being soldiers, utter dicks or half on their way to human.

Whatever it is Gadreel is doing, he notices Sam fairly quickly and turns to him, meeting him again on the road.

“We have Gabriel,“ Sam tells him first, because he promised he would.

Gadreel accepts the news with a small nod.

“How is he?“

There’s not a hint of malice in his voice. If anything, Sam hears concern, and he considers for a moment how to respond.

“He’s… himself at the moment. But he doesn’t think he’s free, so we set him up in the dungeon. His own idea.“

He doesn’t know if that last piece of information helped any, knowing Gadreel’s history with prisons. The only light comes from Sam’s flashlight, falling in a pool around their feet. It’s enough to see Gadreel’s face, but not to properly read his expression, and his short silence might mean anything.

“He is unhurt?“

Sam shrugs.

“As far as I can see.“

Which isn’t much, but it’s the best he can offer.

They lapse into silence again, Sam not sure how to ask about what is niggling at him; if he even should. He sees Gadreel’s hands curl briefly into fists.

“It’s time, I presume.“

Sam looks up, bothered by the darkness that obscures Gadreel’s features.

“Time for what, exactly?“

It takes Gadreel a moment to pick his words.

“I have committed crimes Michael cannot forgive.“

And that is what is wrong about the whole situation.

“If Michael went after every angel who was on Metatron’s side for a while, he’d have to lock up half of Heaven. And you came back. You helped us. You proved yourself.“

“I killed the Prophet.“

As if Sam could forget. As if it was something he could forgive, even though they got Kevin back. It irks him, distantly, that it's the only death that matters, that nobody is going to care for the other victims killed by other angels. But at the same time, it’s also the only death that matters to him. The one that was personal. He can’t in good conscience argue against Gadreel paying for it.

"So you think you're going back to prison?"

The angel winces.

"I hope not."

There aren't many other options, not when it comes to Heaven's justice. And that’s- That simply isn’t right. He knows how it feels to walk to one's own execution, even though in his case it was always coupled with a sacrifice, something hopefully worth the price.

It's not something he wishes on anybody else.

"Why didn't you run?" He swallows. "Why don't you run?"

It would be so simple, even now. Knock Sam unconscious, get into the garage, steal any of the cars. He knows Gadreel can drive. He could get a good headstart before anybody comes looking for him. And who even knows how far he could get if he left the vessel. If he can leave the vessel after his injury.

He sees Gadreel tense, but before he can start to worry – hope? – he will take the implied offer, the angel relaxes.

"I don't want to hide again. I’m not proud of the decisions I’ve made when I was trying to hide the last time. I don’t want to know what I’d become if I tried harder.“

There’s nothing to say to that – no reason he should even want to say anything to that.

“Let’s go,“ Gadreel tells him, gently, and begins to walk up to the Bunker’s door without waiting for Sam to join him.

“Gadreel.“

He sees barely the silhouette of the angel stop and turn to him.

“Yes?“

And now he sounds patient and a little wary, as if he expected some sort of last minute low blow.

“I never got around to thanking you. For protecting me and Dean when Gabriel got turned. So, thanks for that.“

Gadreel immediately shakes his head.

“You don’t have to thank me. I wasn’t risking much.“

Sam presses his lips together.

“You risked your life for us.“

“Which I knew I’ll lose.“ He shifts, makes a step back towards Sam, and in the dark his voice carries clearly over the rest of the distance. “I came to help. To put right at least some of my mistakes. I’m grateful you gave me the chance, even though you had no reason to trust me. I only wish I was able to do more.“

It feels like a punch to the gut.

“You came to us expecting to get executed no matter what you do for us.“

“I wasn’t completely certain, but it was the most likely outcome.“

He says it so lightly, as if it didn’t really matter. Sam isn’t sure he can deal with that.

“Why?“

This time it takes Gadreel a moment to respond, maybe to pick his words.

“Because I never knowingly betrayed humanity.“

And that’s too much. That’s too heavy. Lucifer has shown Sam how alien and old angels really are, arguing for Sam’s understanding where Cas was mostly trying to blend in – and yet it always takes him aback to suddenly realize he’s talking with a person who took part in the oldest stories. For whom it is reality that shaped them.

He’s learned to accept that Lucifer sees humans, with a few exceptions, as a strange, half-baked species that took over his world; learned not to expect more than grudging tolerance and tentative curiosity out of him. That there are angels who see his own kind as something worth protecting no matter the cost, saw it as such from the beginning, that becomes hard to believe in comparison.

He nearly asks Gadreel if he even likes people, or if it is some twisted attempt to fulfill a duty given by a God who abandoned him long ago, but the question lodges at the back of his throat until he swallows it down.

It’s not his place to demand answers. Not now, when it won’t change anything.

He takes too long to decide anyway, because Gadreel takes his silence as a leave and vanishes in the open door to the Bunker, his steps heavy and head held high.

 

Despite the late hour, Sam finds everybody in the library when he follows Gadreel in – even Kevin, who found some interesting, cypher-like phrase in the Tablet to pass the time till they return with Gabriel and got so absorbed in it in the meantime that he didn’t stop when they came back.

Michael is already waiting when Gadreel walks up to him, and the reunion is tense enough to make the rest of the room fall quiet. Michael’s posture is rigid, his face blank like all the progress he’s made in using his body never happened. For a few seconds, the silence is so complete that only Kevin’s furious scribbling can be heard, the Prophet’s fervor in sharp contract to the frozen tableau that would be right in front of him if he only raised his head.

“Brother.“

Michael’s greeting is oddly quiet, too.

Gadreel only nods in return, formal.

“I’m ready.“

Michael doesn’t move at first. Long enough for Sam to wonder if he intends to do it right there, draw his blade and run Gadreel through, leaving them with an imprint of wings charred into the floor, tables and books, so that they never forget-

No. There would be no wings. Just a body to dispose of, appearing perfectly human.

The mental image makes Sam yearn for a glass of something strong.

In the end, Michael merely raises his hand to lay it on Gadreel’s shoulder, the same way he guided Gabriel earlier that night, and Sam hates himself for the relief he feels.

Not here, then.

“Isn’t that unnecessary?“

Castiel’s voice cuts across the scene, deep and sharp. Michael draws his hand back, openly startled, and Cas rounds on him.

“Do you really need to make it public? Gadreel is still almost universally hated in Heaven. He won’t get any respect if you drag him there. I would believe he deserves at least to die with dignity after what he did for us. You don’t need to make him into an example. Your word will be enough.“

Michael narrows his eyes on him, suddenly cold.

“Don’t you dare dictate to me how I perform duties that should have been yours. You refused to lead the Host. You don’t have a say in how I do so.“

Cas draws a breath for a sharp retort, but before he can start, Gadreel speaks up.

“Castiel. Brother.“ His voice is soft, calm, but maybe that’s why he immediately draws the attention of the other two. “Thank you. But my vessel is still alive. If Michael takes me to Heaven, he will survive. He is a good man. He doesn’t deserve to pay for my mistakes.“

“Wait, what?“ Kevin is blinking up at them, finally distracted from his research. “What’s going on?“

Michael turns to him, so stiff he looks as if he stood at attention.

“Gadreel is going to face justice for murdering you. There was a dispute whether he is to be killed here or in Heaven, but it’s settled now.“

Kevin gapes at him mutely for several long moments.

“You’re going to execute him.“

“It is the law.“

Kevin turns his stare on Gadreel, who doesn’t seem able to return it. Kevin’s expression is hard, as nearly always around his murderer. Both Trans have a core of steel after all, and Kevin has absolutely no reason to disagree with the verdict.

“So. Him and how many others?“

Michael shifts nearly imperceptibly.

“What do you mean?“

“Do you have any idea how many human lives this whole mess cost? I do. I was there. I talked to those people. To those who went splat because the angels couldn’t care less how many meatsuits they’ll have to try on before one of them fits. To those who said yes because they thought it’s their opportunity to help other people, only to be used for killing other angels and their vessels. Are there going to be trials for any of these deaths?“

It’s not easy to make Michael look shaken, but Kevin managed it.

“This is different. To protect the Prophet is law given by God-“

Kevin stands abruptly, his chair scraping across the floor, his palms flat on the table as he leans towards Michael.

“You were all supposed to protect people. That was also law given by God, wasn’t it? Heaven did a piss poor job of it for millennia, under your rule, by the way. You treat us like cattle. Don’t single me out, I’m as human as the next guy. Gadreel did exactly the same thing as eighty percent of the rest of you. He panicked when it was his hide on the line and killed to live. So either execute all of them or nobody.“

For a moment it seems it will work. Then Michael’s expression hardens.

“That’s not how it works. Nothing like the second fall will happen again, I will make sure of that. And I will also make sure my siblings understand the full extent of their errors during this situation. But you are still the Prophet. You are more important than any other human, that is not up for debate. You must understand that not every angel is under my control right now. More than a few will see you as a fine prize the moment they learn about your existence. If I pardon Gadreel, I will encourage them to make an attempt either at your life or at your freedom, because you won’t be untouchable anymore. I promised to protect you. This is what I have to do to do so.“

Kevin snorts. “Sorry, if you have to kill a guy as an example to protect me, I think I’ll rather be in danger.“

“That’s not up to you to decide!“

Sam flinches at the sudden outburst. But it seems Michael startled himself by his loss of control, because next he reins himself in with obvious effort, ice replacing fire. His tone could freeze a volcano.

“You were chosen by God as the Prophet. My duty to protect you in every possible way has nothing to do with your wishes on the matter.“

It sounds like the final word. There’s nothing Kevin can physically do to stop an angel and apparently nothing he can say to convince him. Michael stares him down and Kevin is the first to avert his eyes.

Not for long, though.

“You have to protect me because I’m your only link to God, right? Until He decides to show up, I’m your only way His Word can get to you. Is that right?“

Face to face with Kevin’s sudden thoughtful calm, Michael shifts his weight, wary.

“Yes. Until and unless Joshua is recovered, yes.“

“Fine.“ Kevin straightens. “Then I speak as the Prophet. There will be no execution. Not unless you want to kill every angel who took a human life since the Fall. Decide.”

Sam’s eyes go wide. Gone is the haggard kid they knew since he got tangled in their kind of life; this Kevin speaks with authority that really doesn’t seem to be his own, standing straight and expecting to be obeyed without question.

It’s an admirable act.

It’s also full of holes. Far as they know, every Prophet has a specific gift: Kevin doesn’t have prophetic dreams, Chuck wouldn’t have been able to read the Tablets. Maybe God spoke through some Prophets in the past, but not through the current one.

Exceptions do happen in everything, but that’s a former archangel Kevin is trying to play. Someone who knows damn well how it feels when God talks to him.

Somebody who isn’t going to take the attempt at impersonating Him lightly.

Sam suddenly fervently wishes he remembered to ask whether the angels managed to restart the line of Prophets, because this is exactly the kind of transgression Michael might take as the last, even coming from a Prophet.

Maybe especially coming from a Prophet.

Eyes on his every move, ready to jump in, Sam doesn’t miss the strange expression that passes over Michael’s face.

“What would you have me do with him, then?“

It’s about then that Sam realizes that he still doesn’t understand Michael, at all. The last thing he expected from him was to turn thoughtful, but that’s exactly what this is. Not a challenge, not yet giving ground. A genuine question, a show of respect.

Only Gadreel suddenly appears more terrified than hopeful as he looks to Kevin. Sam tenses when he realizes why. If Michael gives him the power, Kevin can crush Gadreel completely while trying to show mercy. It would be darkly ironic in a true Winchester fashion if Kevin saved his life only to give him the one sentence Gadreel fears more than death.

Unless he would do it on purpose. Kevin has a reason to advocate for other victims, but no reason to be kind to his own murderer.

“You can still heal, right?“

Gadreel swallows.

“A little, yes. Nothing significant, I’m afraid.“

“Great. Because that’s why you killed me, didn’t you? You weren’t just scared. You wanted to be someone. To do something important. You wanted to be admired again. Is that right?“

Kevin’s stare is once more hard and once more, Gadreel can’t bear it.

“Yes.“

“But you were also trying to help. Until Metatron gave you a better offer, that is.“

“Even then. I thought Metatron will build a better Heaven. I was blinded by my hope, my ambition, I admit. But I swear, at the time I thought I’m doing the right thing.“

“Which shows you shouldn’t be making any big decisions for a while,“ Kevin concludes mercilessly. “So how about this: You go out there. You help people. You stay out of the spotligth. The less anybody notices you, the better. You’ll be nobody. Nobody will admire you. But you will be alive and you’ll have the chance to do something good. Clear out someone’s arthritis when they aren’t looking, do volunteer work to feed the hungry, become a nurse, I don’t care. Just do something useful. If the guy you’re wearing lets you. I want you to ask him. I want you to come clean with him about what you’ve done and ask him if you can stay. You’re not more important than him.“

Gadreel turns to Michael, mute, eyes wide and wild. Whether it’s with hope or desperation Sam honestly doesn’t know.

“Do you accept?” Michael asks him, severe and in control once more.

Gadreel doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Yes, I do.“

“Then it is acceptable to Heaven as well.“

And just like that, the tension breaks, all three humans in the room remembering to breathe.

“If you stay for a few days, we’ll set you up with new papers,“ Dean offers from where he hovers near Cas. “That okay, Kev?“

“Yeah, sure. A few more days won’t kill me, I guess.“ Kevin’s grimace is too dry for humor. Suddenly, he looks tired beyond words. He vaguely waves a hand. “Just. I’m going to bed. Night.“

Cas tilts his head at him.

“Good night.“

They watch him leave, uncertain where to go from there.

“That was interesting,“ Lucifer comments idly.

And right then, it’s too much, too many thoughts trying to run through Sam’s head at once in the wake of the emotional rollercoaster and physical exhaustion of today. Penitence, redemption, mercy, all concepts too big for one late night; unwanted comparisons between one angel he can barely stand and another he loves – cares about – is hopelessly entangled with.

Blood on the hands of both.

“I need a drink,” he announces to the room at large and wanders off in the direction of the kitchen, purposefully ignoring Lucifer’s puzzled gaze and uncaring whether it’s impolite not to see Michael off.

Dean joins him eventually, gets his own tumbler and sits at the table across from him.

“Crazy day, huh?“ he offers.

Sam huffs. “Yeah. Crazy day.“

They don’t say anything else, but Dean drinks with him until the alcohol dulls the sharp edges of his thoughts enough to let him go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The promised spoiler: Nope, no character death, feel free to proceed. :)
> 
> Next chapter will be probably the last. Time to wrap up the Samifer part of the story, don’t you think?
> 
> (Also: My apologies if there aren’t any abandoned warehouses at the edges of San José. I tried to research but it’s late and I wanted to post the chapter. I ended up with an entirely new level of respect for the country and next to zero information I originally looked for. Ah well.)


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So very sorry for the delay. I swear it was one step forward, three steps back with this chapter. Endings are hard :) Also, nobody warned me it’s possible to get a writer’s block at the last minute.
> 
> Warning for a character going through a flashback.

It’s an irony, really, that the further Gadreel presumably gets from the Bunker, the more he weighs on Sam’s mind.

He has left a few days after what Sam now thinks of as his trial, freshly equipped with forged papers and a phone Sam slipped him in the last moment when nobody looked. Just in case he heard about something that could be a hunt. Just in case he happened to get a lead on Metatron, or another dangerous rogue, or simply didn’t know how to deal.

Just in case.

Mostly it’s because Gadreel doesn’t have the best track record when he finds himself alone and cornered, so Sam would rather get an unwanted call every once in a while than have him completely on his own.

But partially it’s – it’s something dangerously close to an apology. Which doesn’t make sense, because if either of them owes the other anything, it’s still Gadreel who has something to pay, but-

It’s complicated and it occupies Sam’s thoughts way too much. The trial and the conversations surrounding it drew unwanted comparisons between Gadreel and Lucifer, made Sam realize once more what kind of companion he chose.

It’s easy to forgive Lucifer when he listens to his point of view. Easy to understand his pride, his convictions, his motivations. Lucifer is honest in a way most angels aren’t. It gives him the kind of charisma that is especially hard to escape for someone who always instinctively knew the world isn’t as clearly divided between good and evil as his father would have him believe, was always willing to pay attention to the other side’s reasons. Coming from Lucifer’s mouth, his views on humanity make sense.

And then there is Gadreel. Trying to protect the same humanity since its beginnings. Seeing it as worth every sacrifice from his end with devotion as deep as Lucifer’s conviction is. Accepting death as a fitting punishment for the murder of a single human being while Lucifer barely promised not to pick up his plans for a planet-wide genocide and even that he considers a mercy. If anybody asked him to accept responsibility for the human lives he took, or those his demons took, he’d probably laugh in their face.

Lucifer doesn’t regret what he’s done, he made that very clear. He merely opted not to continue in the same direction.

He chose to change.

It’s enormous. It’s a being about as vast and old as the world itself changing its course. The Devil, the Adversary, literally ceasing to exist out of his own free will.

But is it enough, considering all the blood on his hands and his blatant lack of remorse? And what does it say about Sam that he already forgave him, and for such simple and selfish reasons like good company, too?

Is it enough to justify falling for him? Because that is what’s happening, irrevocably, and Sam can’t find the will to stop it, can’t find the will to want to stop it.

Does falling in love need to be justified?

Does he need to justify that he’s on the verge of loving Lucifer while all he can offer Gadreel, who stands in such a sharp contrast to him, is a token of reluctant good will?

He doesn’t owe either angel anything. By all rights, he should still hate them both. That he doesn’t, that he can find it in himself to forgive them (one more fully than the other), even love one of them – does it make him good or a monster in his own right?

o.O.o

It’s one of these times. Lucifer laughs when Sam slips through his hold and tries to lock his arm behind his back, his breath fanning over Lucifer’s bare shoulder, the contact of skin on skin no less electrifying or delicious for the challenge.

It happens, sometimes, when both of them feel pushy and neither wants to surrender, that a make out session devolves into a lazy mock fight.

Sam bites the back of his neck and Lucifer’s laugh becomes a gasp. For a second, he freezes. Such an animal thing to do – such an animal thing to feel, as the sensation shoots through his body straight to his groin.

“Too much?“ Sam murmurs against the mark he’s made, his hold on Lucifer’s wrist slackening in case Lucifer needed to get out of the position.

“Unexpected,” Lucifer admits.

Sam hums and lets him go, gently guiding him to turn to face him. He doesn’t apologize, but he runs a gentle thumb over Lucifer’s lips, a gesture they found out both distracts him and grounds him.

“Some other time?“ Lucifer offers after a moment. He never refuses an experience, but this one will take some getting used to. He rolls his shoulders to dissolve the lingering feeling of bruised skin, then rubs at the bite when it doesn’t help.

“Okay,“ Sam agrees easily.

They settle into a comfortable silence, undisturbed as Sam reaches for Lucifer’s free hand and turns it palm up between them, studying it in much the same way Lucifer studied it himself when he first realized how interesting it is to have a body.

It’s something Lucifer found out about Sam only recently, that once he allows himself to touch, he seeks out some form of contact nearly constantly. It’s one of the things Lucifer loves about this bond they have, this experiment, because it means he’s not the only one scrambling for closeness.

It takes unusually long this time. After a while, Sam stopped the slow exploration and now he just stares into Lucifer’s palm as if he could read the lines there, his shoulders hunched in a way that doesn’t look relaxed anymore.

“Sam. Something on your mind?“ Lucifer asks softly. There’s always something on Sam’s mind – he’s not sure Sam knows how to exist without worrying about one thing or another – but he’s been distracted lately.

At first, there’s no reaction, then the hunter takes a fortifying breath and looks him in the eye.

“I need you to do something for me.“

Lucifer swallows the ‘anything’ that is his first, dangerous, instinctive response to that.

“What is it?“

“Gadreel told me a while back that he wasn’t able to heal me completely after the Trials. Will you take a look?“

Lucifer stills.

“Do you know what exactly I should look for?“

It takes an effort to keep his voice light.

Sam shrugs, uneasy.

“He said scars. Weak points, some damage to soft tissues, things like that.”

Lucifer somehow manages to leave the hand in Sam’s hold open. The other is balled into a tight fist. He can imagine it, suddenly. He knows perfectly well how fragile a human body is. One small rupture in the wrong place and it’s the end, coming fast and unnoticed until it’s too late.

It shouldn’t matter so much. There’s no place in existence Sam’s soul can hide from him now that Heaven is open to him again. They’ll never part unless Lucifer allows it. But there is something about a body – the warmth, the endless discovery – that he’d miss.

A soul may be the essence of a human being, but without the flesh it’s incomplete. Even worse – from what he knows, in Michael’s neat little Heaven it never changes; in the chaotic, creative maelstrom he saw in the Veil, it may change too much, too fast for Lucifer to follow.

It’s bad enough that Sam Winchester is mortal. The thought of them losing what little time on Earth they have together is unbearable.

Luckily, he is alive now, right in front of Lucifer, so even if anything happened to him this instant, Lucifer could intervene. And the danger presents a chance he never thought he’ll have.

It’s that enticing possibility that lets him release the tension, lay his palm flat on his jeans-clad knee and find a new angle to return Sam’s determined stare. He doesn’t fight the shadow of a smile that wants to play with the corners of his mouth.

“Are you sure you want me to check, Sam? I’d have to run pretty deep to discover everything.“

He’s delighted when Sam nods, firm.

“Yes.“

He’d prefer it to sound less like bracing for danger, but they both know every yes between them is significant. For now, the determined ones are okay. The easier, more willing ones will come. Do come, sometimes, under different circumstances. For different things.

Lucifer lifts a hand, lays his fingertips on the center of Sam’s bare chest and releases the faintest tendril of Grace into him.

Sam lets out a slow, even breath and closes his eyes, a show of trust that isn’t made any less real by the tension lines around the corners of his mouth.

Encouraged, Lucifer pours a steady stream of his essence through the contact between them and lets an image of Sam’s body come alive in his mind.

It’s immediately clear that Gadreel was right. Sam’s body is a disaster site, a swath of land an earthquake shook and a hurricane moved through only recently. There are dark spots, gaping tears held half closed by flimsy bridges, energy flowing all wrong as it struggles around unexpected obstacles to feed the most crucial of organs, leaving the rest of them to starve and slowly decay. It’s a horrifying sight, despite all the work that was already done towards recovery. And what a work it is. There are pools of rejuvenating energy that point towards a more traditional approach to angelic healing, but they aren’t doing all that much in a system that is mostly unable to use them without careful guidance. The rest of it, the grounds on which Sam is currently able to function at all, shows a staggering level of dedication, ingenuity and attention to detail. It must have been Gadreel who managed to do this much with the power he had at his disposal at the time. And how much raw power it must have taken at the beginning from an already injured angel, to hold everything together while mending the worst of the damage. No wonder there are so many temporary fixes and detours. It’s like scaffolding all through the body, still partially holding the whole construction up even though the main supporting pillars are mostly reconstructed already.

It’s a miracle and an abomination in one. He gets the urge to pour everything he has into that terrifying scene, wipe it clean and polish it to full health, and he reins it back, hard. Too much too fast and he’ll destroy the careful balance there before he can figure out how to rebuild it.

That’s when the whole system heaves, achingly familiar willpower rallying up reserves that shouldn’t exist to kick him out.

For a single disorienting moment he’s neither here nor there, the visceral sensation of devastated flesh being flooded with adrenaline overlaid with the image of Sam rearing backward, severing the contact between them.

Then his senses sharpen, focus. There is terror written all over Sam’s face, aimed at him as if he could see through his skin to the most horribly beautiful facets of his true form.

“Don’t-!” The sound is strangled, bitten off, fear and anger and defiance that knows it will break, and for a second there’s no gentleness between them. He is the predator and Sam is the prey and it will be like that forever-

That’s when his mind finally catches up and supplies the right interpretation of the scene before him: a flashback.

Immediately he folds himself up within his vessel, making himself as muted and insignificant as he is able, concern flooding him.

“Sam. Sam, it’s alright. You are safe.“ His voice wavers – why does it waver? Sam isn’t actually in danger; his memory is playing tricks on him but it will pass. “We aren’t in the Cage anymore. You are safe. I’m not here to hurt you.“

“Liar,“ Sam spits out.

It stings. It should be a good sign, at least he knows Sam isn’t so far gone that he wouldn’t be able to hear him, but it still hurts.

He lets his voice get firmer.

“Sam. Listen to me. You are having a flashback. Whatever you see, whatever you fear, it’s not real anymore. You survived it. It’s behind you. You are safe now.“

It isn’t helping. Sam is staring at him, pupils blown impossibly wide, his jaw working as if holding back both accusations and pleas, and Lucifer scrambles for something his old self would never say, never try.

When he finds it, he nearly balks at it, but there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to bring Sam back to the present, and that makes it true.

“You are in control here, Sam,“ he says, his voice softer than ever. “I won’t touch you without your permission. I promise.“

Sam blinks and Lucifer grabs at that small hopeful sign with both hands.

“That’s right. We aren’t there anymore, remember? We aren’t what we were back then. We are in your room in the Bunker. Remember the Bunker? You didn’t know about it when we were down in the Cage. You can walk away anytime. Your brother is just a few rooms over, safe and sound. There’s Kevin Tran, too. You didn’t know him before, either.”

Sam shifts. Swallows. Starts to shake, unfreezing from the grip of the memory. His eyes dart around, wild but hopefully taking in the familiar surroundings, not looking for an escape.

“Remember, Sam. It’s been several years for you. You survived the Cage. You survived… me.“ The words are bitter on his tongue, the admission that for Sam, he was something that needed to be survived.

“You aren’t-“

Sam’s voice is rough, choked. Lucifer’s mouth twists.

“I’m real. This is not a dream, not a hallucination. We are really here.“ He dares to smile. “I’m flesh and blood, like you. More or less. You can touch me if you want. Make sure I’m physical.“

He is careful not to make any movement towards Sam, though, afraid he’d spook him.

Sam stares at him for a small eternity longer, trembling harder by the second. Trying desperately to get a grip on reality. The sight simultaneously breaks Lucifer’s heart and makes him unbearably proud, because that is exactly what he’s learned to expect from Sam: that he never stops fighting.

Finally Sam collapses in on himself, buries his face in his badly shaking hands.

“What the freaking-“ His voice shakes, too, but at least it sounds present, and Lucifer sags in relief.

“You had a flashback.“

“Yeah, the worst one since- Since the hallucinations. What the hell.“

Lucifer doesn’t respond at first – but he knows. As much as he’d like to find a different explanation, he knows, the certainty clogging the back of his throat like ash.

“You react to my Grace, I think.“

And that is the price of their past. Lucifer’s fantasies, those about flowing through Sam’s veins, getting as close to him as he can without outright possessing him, they will never be fulfilled. The flesh is something for them to explore, to bring them together, but it will also always be a barrier between them. He can only have Sam as a human could, never as an angel.

Sam shakes his head. “But that’s-“

“You remember. Some part of you remembers the Cage and it will always react to me the same way it did then.“

Sam shakes his head again, more vehemently.

“No. I can work with it.“

His stubbornness makes Lucifer smile, even if the smile is small and broken.

“Maybe. But you shouldn’t.“

This time, Sam looks at him wordlessly, the spark of challenge in his eyes a welcome proof that the flashback is truly over.

“Sam, you told me yourself. The only reason you are alive now is that you don’t remember that time. I don’t want to risk you.“

It’s the truth. It’s also the truth that Sam probably only can handle being anywhere near him for the same reason.

He’ll rather have Sam as a human than not at all.

Sam hesitates, his jaw locked tight, whole body on the brink of defiance. Then he averts his eyes.

“Fine.“

It sounds bitter, defeated. It makes Lucifer wonder if Sam secretly harbored the same fantasies, or if his issue is somewhere else.

“I’ll ask Michael to take a look at you,“ he offers.

“That’s fine.“ Sam gives a crooked, wan smile. “I’ll live.“

“No, you won’t. I saw enough before you kicked me out. I’m surprised you are alive right now.“

Sam studies him for a second. Then his gaze sharpens.

“Then try again. No matter the cost.“

“I won’t.“

Sam’s expression twists into something ugly.

“Lucifer, I’ve had enough angels rummaging around inside. Cas I trust but he’s too weak. It has to be you.“

Lucifer wavers.

“Michael wouldn’t use it against you. He wouldn’t betray me.“

“Not the point.“

“You can die at any moment if you’re not healed. I’m not sure I can do it even if I try. Not while you’re fighting me. We’ve had this showdown once, Sam. It didn’t go so well. And right now, your body can’t handle becoming a battlefield again.“

“You don’t get it. You and Dean both. There are things I simply won’t do, even if it kills me.“

“I’m not asking you to let yourself be a vessel.“

“But it’s still deeper than normal healing.“

Lucifer hesistates, then sighs. “Yes, it is.“

He’s not sure how to proceed. He of all beings in existence understands the necessity of pride and self-determination, but this is different. Unnecessary. Not to mention it’s somehow easier to risk himself for these reasons than to watch someone he cares about do the same.

Regardless, he knows Sam enough to know not to push too hard. The question is, how to do it softly and quickly enough to save him.

He’s still considering his options when Sam frowns, brows drawing together over an idea.

“How come this is the only thing I react to, anyway? You’ve healed me before, or knocked me out, and I never had so much as a bad dream from it. How is this different?“

Which is actually a good question. One for which Lucifer could come up with several theories on the spot, but neither explains it fully. He runs a thumb over his lips, thoughtful.

“Looks like a combination of factors.“

“Then we only need to find the right combination and you can heal me yourself.“

It’s a tempting offer.

“It’s still a risk,“ he feels the duty to point out.

Sam gives him a crooked half-grin, more pure stubbornness than mirth.

“Since when do you avoid risks?“

_Since it’s you on the line,_ he wants to say. He doesn’t.

It had been easier, in a way, to have Sam firmly in his grasp. To be the one to dictate every detail of his existence. This feels too fragile, too uncertain. Free will for both of them to decide if they will be together or not. It’s slowly sinking in that sometimes, Sam will want things very different from what Lucifer wants. From what Lucifer wants him to want.

There’s satisfaction in it, too. In the knowledge that Sam is with him because he wants to, and for no other reason. It’s more of a confirmation of their link than the Apocalypse could ever be.

It is also a delightful challenge. It is what he truly wants.

Doesn’t mean Sam makes it simple for him.

“Alright. We’ll try. But if we can’t find a way within a month, you’ll let Michael heal you.“

There. A compromise. An ultimatum, if it was possible to give an ultimatum with nothing to threaten with.

Sam frowns, his jaw still stubbornly set, but after a moment he relents.

“Okay. A month.”

Whether it is a concession to Lucifer or to his own survival instinct Lucifer doesn’t know and doesn’t care. He has a month at most to fear, a month to watch over Sam like a hawk without Sam noticing too much.

A month to find a way to get what he fantasizes about, too, before he is forced to give up forever.

Yet another challenge.

Sam watches him for a moment with too clever eyes, then his expression softens.

“Come here.“

He hesitates and Sam’s mouth crooks into a warm half-smile.

“Lucifer. We’ve done this before. I won’t break from a little excitement.“

He doesn’t wait for Lucifer to make up his mind. He crawls the short distance between them on all fours and suddenly Lucifer has a lapful of a very warm, half naked hunter. Hesitantly, he lays his palms on the skin of his sides, feels the slide of muscle beneath. It’s impossible, how something so fragile can feel so firm. How something so near death can be so full of life.

How did he get to this point, caring so deeply for something so transient, so fleetingly, briefly there?

Then Sam ducks his head and kisses him full on the mouth, demanding and unashamed, and he surges towards that point of contact, chasing the absurdity of being so close without ever becoming one. Reveling in the deep thrum of arousal that is so purely animal, so purely _flesh_ , and yet it resonates with his very core so deliciously it feels like music, makes him want to spread out and praise Creation in its entirety, blind to its faults once more as he had been at the beginning.

He knows, then: Sam’s importance can’t be measured by the time they spend together. Every time they met was a beginning of something new for Lucifer, a chance at transformation so thorough he still can’t see where it ends.

Sam is his catalyst, his influence always felt long after he’s gone.

But above that, Sam is _Sam_. He could never be so strong if Lucifer was the only purpose of his existence. He is someone who can’t be held back, or down, not even by all the power of an archangel. His trajectory is closely entwined with a chosen few, but it will always be his own.

One day, one way or another, he will pass out of Lucifer’s reach again. If he is a gift, the way Lucifer once saw him as – his one chance at justice, his proof that his Father`s favoritism doesn’t reach as far as to not allow him even a possibility of victory – then he is a gift that can’t be kept.

But Lucifer will be damned again if he lets him go without a fight. Even if it’s Sam who wants him to, if it’s him who wants to end things, he’ll have to want it badly enough to fight back.

They both know he can.

o.O.o

There’s a price to their shared past.

In a way, it calms him. There’s clearly a part of him that remembers, that will always remind him of what they were meant to be and what they once were. A part that will keep him alert, a part that can’t be talked around or mellowed by the developing understanding between him and Lucifer or bribed by pleasant dreams and good company.

A part that knows what Lucifer is and doesn’t forgive what it shouldn’t, and in a way that makes all the sense in the world and absolutely no sense at all it’s what finally lets him choose to be with Lucifer without reservation.

It can also kill him, which is exactly the kind of irony life loves to serve the Winchesters. But it makes him realize one thing:

He doesn’t want to die.

Of course, he never really wanted to – not unless he was at one of his lowest points, drunk and brotherless and with a gun too close at hand. It was just that sometimes, dragging his body and mind through another day seemed too exhausting; the idea of simply dying on the job, or maybe exchanging his life for something meaningful, tended to be strangely tempting, making him more sluggish instead of rallying up his reserves.

Not anymore.

Of course, it’s not as simple as getting a good night’s sleep more often than not. Not as simple as looking forward to the thrill of Lucifer’s company. The problem runs too deep for that, he knows that now. The sheer fatigue of everything he’s been through, physically and mentally, can’t be fixed by a bit of rest. There is still a treacherous undercurrent in his mind that tells him he should pay for all he’s done, all he’s failed to do; that the good he does will never balance out the lives lost because of him, and that snuggling up with the Devil in spare moments only proves he is, deep down, an abomination.

But somehow, for the first time in forever, the thoughts are relatively easy to dismiss. Somehow his life feels back on the right track. It’s not just him and Dean and Cas anymore, waiting for the next catastrophe to be bad enough to finally beat them. There is space for them to do what they want to do, allies to rely on when needed; just a bit of luck finally on their side.

Much of it has something to do with Lucifer. It’s as if he broke a curse that lay on him since Ruby: he’s the suspicious ally and dangerous lover who didn’t betray them at the end of a fight. For once, he and Dean chose right to give somebody a chance.

Or more like for once, they chose right in general.

Sam can’t remember when last things seemed so hopeful, but he’s enjoying the feeling with all he is.

Soon, they’ll go back to hunting. He’ll argue with Dean over food and with Lucifer over his safety, he’ll be finding excuses to leave Dean and Cas alone in motel rooms even though he’s pretty sure all they ever do in private is to watch silly TV series. Far too often he’ll be sleeping in the Impala and waking up with a crick in his neck and look forward to the next rare stay in the Bunker. In all this, Lucifer will be there to challenge him, to keep him, and they’ll see where their entanglement ends.

He can’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I owe you all some smutty cut scene, but, you know… somehow it didn’t fit into this story. Or maybe I’m just scared. :) But I didn’t want to have sex as the culmination of the relationship. The physical exploration is important, but not the sole point.
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for sticking with me this far. Every little bit of feedback was precious, every comment and kudos and even the hit count. Special thanks go to Malami, QuincyK, Kajune, CaptainCocktease, scifigeek14, MashuraDi and Remember_Ember, who all commented unbelievably much and have my eternal gratitude for it. Also to anactoria, who may have commented “only” a few times but most of these were on the last few chapters, when the comment numbers suddenly dropped and I found out exactly how nasty an addiction is when you don’t get what you crave. :)  
> These are my heroes out of all the people who kept me going through the toughest writing times.
> 
> Other than that? I’ve learned a lot here. I’ve learned that I can finish a long story. I’ve learned that the most important thing about writing is to never stop writing. I’ve learned that I can write what I enjoy and it will find its readers.  
> And that is just the tip of the iceberg.
> 
> I don’t know what happens next. I’ll take some rest. Then my second baby will be born, and then we’ll see.  
> See you around?

**Author's Note:**

> Despite the tags, I think the fic will end up closer to 50k than 30k (still doesn't feel like "proper" slow burn, though).  
> This wouldn't make it the longest work I've ever written, but it would make it the longest work I've ever finished. It's for this reason I'm not entirely confident I will manage to finish it.  
> On the other hand, this is the first time ever that I have the advantage of continuous feedback (from more than 2-3 people) to spur me on. When I'm writing this, I'm past 15k and showing no signs of slowing down, and that is already an unusual achievement for me. There's definitely hope.
> 
> What I can promise is to not leave you hanging. If I at any point realize I can't continue anymore, I will give you a summary of what I had planned for the fic, including any longer bits I will have written. You will get to know the ending one way or another, I can promise that.
> 
> Updates will remain irregular because I'm too much of a feedback junkie to create a buffer, but I'm trying to update at least bi-weekly. The chapters keep getting longer, though, and when that combines with real-life obligations, exceptions can happen.


End file.
